Red Light, Green Light
by ARoseWithThorns
Summary: Jackson invades Lisa's life again, stealing her away. He needs her help to ellicit information to take down a conspiratorial Keefe, but complications arise when Jackson is taken hostage and Lisa must save him. About to come out of hiatus soon.
1. A Menace to Society

The light blared in Jackson's dilated pupils, and against the blue-black of the darkness, it was somehow orange

The light blared in Jackson's dilated pupils, and against the blue-black of the darkness, it was somehow orange. He felt dizzy, pulsing. A door behind the metal chair he had been tied to opened once and slammed shut. He heard the scrape the second metal chair near the light as the man sat down with a sigh, taking a sip out of a blurred, tan-colored paper cup.

"I ran out to get some coffee," the man said cheerfully. "Been a long night," he yawned lackadaisically. "I would've grabbed you some, but you know, with the drugs kicking in and all, I didn't think it'd be very healthy for your system."

"Fuck you," Jackson snarled, trying to keep his head raised as it grew heavier.

The man folded his ankle over his knee. He took a sip of the coffee and chuckled pleasantly, a warm sound that was off kilter and misplaced in the large, empty warehouse. "Well now, I think you're about ready to tell us the truth. What'd you think, man?"

A rough hand seized the back of Jackson's hair, raising his head. Blood trickled from the corner of Jackson's mouth. "I think he'll be singing us Disney songs in the next few minutes if we want him to," a harsh voice snarled in Jackson's ear. X and Y, as Jackson had dubbed them, were playing good cop, bad cop. Only they weren't just cops, and he was in some serious shit.

"You don't want to hear me s-sing," Jackson managed to deliver before his brain scattered in all directions.

"I'm sure I don't," X said smoothly. "Let's see if some other things are true as well, shall we? What were you doing three months ago?"

"W-watching Liiiisa," stammered Jackson, and the words flowed from his lips loose and unbidden like a white water river. "S-she w-woke up and made s-scrambled eggs."

"How touching," X observed, and he sounded sincere. "What did you do on April 21st, two months ago?"

Jackson struggled to keep the words down, but he was now a puppet in the hands of the drug, simply opening his mouth as it spoke for him. "I f-followed her and in-instigated the operation. Boarded the plane."

"An operation that you failed, Jackson. Who do you work for? Who hired you?"

"Barry M-manilow."

"Cut the bullshit. We know you're government. CIA? DEA? Or did someone contract you on the side?"

Jackson twitched, struggling to keep his resolve. He felt the cold, steel blade of the knife press against his throat, and close behind him Y growled, "Answer the question, or I'll slice off a bit of your ear."

Through a blanket of inebriation, Jackson bore his icy blue stare into X, unmoved. He rattled, "S-so this is what FBI guys do on their day off? I th-thought you go climb trees at Q-quantico."

X slapped his knee as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, and threw his head back laughing. "This guy's funny as hell. Too bad we're going to have to hurt ya, Jack, I was beginning to like you. Fine. Slice him, get him to talk. It's nothing personal, kid," he winked at Jackson.

_Now_! Jackson's mind cried out.

Before anyone could move, Jackson kicked his feet out in one swift movement, spilling the searing hot coffee all over X. He bucked his chair back towards Y's lap, ducking his head mere millimeters beneath the blade as he brought his foot up to kick Y hard in the face, falling back hard on the floor as Y's face began to bleed and he staggered several feet away, dropping the knife as he cried out in pain.

Jackson managed to slide his bound hands up the chair, lifting them over his head and in front of him. X was charging towards him, still screaming from having been burnt.

It was over the second Jackson picked up the knife, and five minutes later both men were dead as he stumbled out of the warehouse into broad daylight, his white shirt bloodied and torn. He raised his hands to the blinding sun, and his head throbbed, but he managed to hold onto the knife. His throat was parched and sore, and he needed food, sleep, and somewhere safe until he got organized and could plan his next move. That ruled out pretty much everywhere but one place.

There were two cars parked nearby, a red Lexus and silver Ford Fusion that faced each other. Jackson slumped heavily against the Fusion, gripping the keys in hand that he had taken from the dead body of X. He lost his gravity somewhat leaning against the door, working up the strength to unlock it. His left leg bled and stung, and he fought with consciousness, but somehow made it inside the car, shutting the door and starting it up. As he turned it onto the freeway, he found black designer sunglasses X had left on the dashboard.

He slid them on, flashed a killer smile to himself in the rearview mirror, and turned the turbo in the direction of utter devastation – Florida, a two hour drive.

"Here I come, Leese," he smiled amidst the pain. He couldn't wait to see her again.

It had been a busy week; the Regional Medical Center was using the Lux Atlantic for their annual Leadership Retreat, and overworked executive assistants swarmed around the lobby like hectic bees with last minute requests, trying to get their people squared away. In the midst of working with the frustrated Catering Manager, Lisa smiled confidently, no problem too big. Business was busy, but it was also booming, and some of the higher ups were starting to really notice her uncanny ability to make things happen.

Her life since the Keefe Incident, as she privately referred to it now, had become increasingly better. She no longer spent her nights watching old movies or tread carefully in the parking lot in the middle of the day; she was now armed with a .357 in her purse, and she knew how to use it. Things were looking up, Jackson was safely locked away in maximum federal confinement, and she was moving on with her life.

Lisa had always had the ability to smile in the face of adversity, and today was no exception. What to some would be enough to pull their hair out, to her was merely another minor problem that could be dealt with. She checked her email at the end of the day, sliding the pumps off her tired feet, and kicking her feet up on her office desk as she perused her email.

There were three messages, two from her friends and one from Brian. She'd met him at a party a few weeks ago, and there was definitely chemistry between them. He was a stockbroker from New York, tall and handsome with Italian features. She'd gone out with him twice, and had kissed him on the last date. She was still quite guarded about getting too involved with someone unfamiliar with her past, and she was taking it slow with him.

Her cell phone rang, and Brian's name flashed on the caller id. "Lisa Reisert," she said carefully.

"Brian Douglas," he copied her in a serious voice.

She smiled, taking her crossed ankles off her desk and walking to the window barefoot. "Hey you."

"Hey, how's your day going?"

"Oh, busy, insane, the usual," she joked.

"Haven't forgotten about our dinner plans tonight then, huh?"

"Nope, I've got my dress waiting in my closet at home. I can't wait for the break it's going to give me from the nutfarm."

"And I can't wait to see you in it. I'll pick you up, your place at seven-thirty?"

"Sounds good," she said with a smile in her voice.

"Great. See you then, beautiful."

"Bye,"

She held the closed, silver clamshell in her palms, looking out at the water outside. Things were definitely looking up.

Jackson found her apartment easily enough; of course she hadn't moved – she had probably been watched by a black and white for about a month, and changed her security code, but there was no real threat to her or her father anymore with him 'locked up', and she had undoubtedly developed enough crass to see her through harder times than the one she'd had with their encounter.

He found a coat to cover his blood-soaked white shirt in the trunk of the Fusion, and taming his hair down a bit, he casually approached her apartment. It was a new security system, and it was on. He knew she'd be working, and he had a few hours to kill, so to speak. A few finesses with the security pad, and he was in, shutting the door behind him and turning the system back on so it wouldn't throw her off.

She still had the cat, a dark grey furball by the name of Spencer. He picked the cat up under his arm, kissing the top of its head. "Nice kitty."

He stood in Lisa's living room for a moment until the cat squirmed out of his arm, holding his coat tightly around him so as not to bleed on the carpet, and he inhaled the sweet air. It smelt like her, soft and clean.

Smiling, he made his way to the bathroom, pausing for a moment on his way to look at a recent framed 4 x 6 award given her by O'Keefe that she had displayed proudly on a lamp table. There was that commercial grin, those large, dark limpid eyes, the thick auburn hair about her.

"Hello, Leese," he said softly to the photo. "Oh, you're not going to like what I have to tell you – not one bit." He would not touch the photo, but he looked at it for a considerable while, then eyed the clock.

4:15.

She got off at 5:30, which would give him enough time to take a shower and do a little first aid on himself.

He set her first aid box from the medicine cabinet onto the bathroom counter and slid his clothes off carefully, a knife wound in his leg and several bruises and cuts all over begging for proper medical treatment. Wincing under the sharp pain that came with the water, his trained mind turned to Lisa.

It was true, he harbored a soft spot for her. She was elegant, and surprisingly agile. In the eight weeks he'd had her under surveillance, he had not just watched her, but had become a part of her life in a way he never had before with anyone else.

Her world was honest, clean, quiet, sincere. Like him, she believed in her job and always gave it her best effort.

When he'd told her on the plane three months ago that he thought she would be in first class as opposed to coach, aside from it being a smooth impromptu pick up line, he'd meant it. How could he tell her, how could he surmise in a mere sentence how out of her league he was?

Lisa had grown up with two supportive parents who adored her and had been there every step of the way for her, despite their divorce.

Jackson didn't even want to think back to the holes in the dingy apartment walls growing up, the old dirty bedsheets used in place of doors that had been broken down, the yelling and screaming at night, the fingernail indents in his arms from his father.

He had been trained to be invisible – he could fit in almost everywhere, in all classes and societies because he had been honed to do so.

But he would never be one of them, one of her kinds of people, and he knew it. They were one and the same, but he was out of her element.

Still, he could not help smile, thinking about how surprised she was going to be.

An hour later, he took a screwdriver and approached the security panel by the door, stopping along the way to cuddle the cat.

Lisa hoiked up the brown paper bag of groceries as she made her way up the stairs. Switching the car keys to her free hand, she depressed her security button, and heard a high pitched beep from within her apartment as she approached it, along with the unlatching of the installed security bolt. She could hear Spencer meowing inside.

"Just a minute, sweetheart, I know you're hungry," she muttered, finangling the key into the normal lock and opening the door. Spencer could smell his tinned cat food, and worked his way between her ankles as she got inside and closed the door. Something made her pause, and she looked around silently, not moving. Something was different. Was that the dryer going?

Living by the old adage that it was better to be safe than sorry, she set the keys down silently on the table by the door, cross reaching with her free hand into her purse and bringing out the .357, which was small but powerful in her petite hands.

In slow motion, as in a dream and looking like her dream guy, Jackson stepped out of her bedroom into the hallway facing her, bare-chested and in dark slacks, his dark hair falling in his face. Fear leapt into her heart; though she could see no weapon in his hands, she remembered their last encounter all too well.

Jackson smiled wide, insouciantly, looking like a Hollywood movie star. "Hi Leese," he started.

Lisa didn't waste time. She brought the .357 up and fired a shot at him. He ducked just in time to miss it, but strangely enough stood his ground.

"Now, Lisa, is that any way to say hello to me after all these months? No hug?" he pouted, darting quickly into the bedroom as she fired another shot. "You know, I'm not armed, so technically you don't need to be shooting at me," he hollered calmly.

Lisa shot once more. "Oh, I don't know, Jack, breaking and entering looks pretty good from where I'm standing," she said, and her voice came out shakier than she wanted it to. Damn. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She kept her eyes forward as she approached the bedroom, but the ground swept from under her as she tripped over a phone cord he had stretched from the couch to the table, and her head collided hard with the carpet as the gun let off another shot, this one quite close to her.

"Lisa!" She heard concern in Jackson's voice, and the next second he was next to her, kneeling and turning her over on her back, looking with concerned eyes for some sign of a wound. He saw the gun before she did, and he slid it across the nearby kitchen floor out of harm's reach. He looked down at her, holding his hands up appeasingly.

"Look, I'm not here to hurt you, okay."

Lisa had to laugh. "That's good. I suppose you just wanted to have some tea and talk about the weather, then?" she sat up quickly, and her head ached. She put a hand to it. "Ugh. Why is it I always get head injuries when I'm around you?"

"Because – you just can't get me out of your head?" he said quietly. Despite herself, the charm in his voice made her almost want to laugh. Almost. She stood up carefully, pushing him away when he actually offered to help her up. She walked to her phone. "All right, Jackson, I don't know how you got out of prison, but you have 10 seconds to get out of my house. I'm calling the police." He just watched her dial 911 and press send, his icy blue eyes glittering at her, amused.

"It, uh, won't work," he said kindly, and she grew afraid when there was no dial tone. "I've disabled all communications."

Lisa turned quickly to the door, her fingers flying over the security keypad to get her out of here.

"I uh, dismantled your security system as well," Jackson said even more softly. Tears filled her eyes as she turned to him.

"What do you want?" She swallowed, hating how vulnerable she felt.

Again, Jackson held up his hands, and she saw sincerity in his eyes. "Just to talk. I want five minutes. That's it."

The dryer stopped, and suddenly the house was quiet, and her heartbeat seemed to fill the room. She wondered if he heard it. "You've got three," she said sharply.

Jackson shook his head, smiling. "Outstanding. That's all I need. First, can I get my shirt from the dryer?" Who was she to stop him? Truth be told, he looked magnificent with it off, but the fact that he was stone cold crazy kind of outweighed his sex appeal, but not by much. "Do you mind if I-" He motioned to her closed laundry doors. She rolled her eyes.

"You've pretty much let yourself in so far, who am I to stop you?" He grabbed his shirt from the dryer and put it on, fixing the collar as he began to button it up. She noticed the bandages around his chest and hard abdomen.

"I'll make it quick, Leese, I know time is money. To answer your question, I didn't break out of prison. They let me go."

Lisa blinked. "No," her thoughts exuded outloud. "No, that's not possible. You're locked away for life for attempting to assassinate a government official and kidnapping. There's no way they would-"

"Lisa," he said softly, and something in his tone grabbed hold of her. "You may want to sit down for what I'm about to tell you." He had the upper hand, and all she could do was stay safe and play along.

She sat down on one of her couches, and he sat down on the opposite couch on the other side of the coffee table, wincing as he did so. "I'll get to the point. I'm not who you think I am," he breathed, touching his tender leg. He leaned forward. "Everything I told you on the plane is true, but you need to know that my boss, the one I work for, isn't a terrorist."

Lisa watched him, his crazy, clear blue eyes stark and bright in the afternoon glow that washed through the apartment. Did she want to hear this? After all this man had brought into her life? Did she have a choice?

"Lisa, what I'm about to tell you has brought about the death of thirty or so men, and is extremely top secret. I'm probably going to die tonight, but before I do, I wanted you to know the truth. It doesn't make me a better man or even a decent one, but it will give me peace of mind knowing you know. I'm ex-CIA, disavowed, and Charles O'Keefe hired me to stage his own assassination attempt to boost his ratings."

Lisa's jaw dropped open.

Keefe was the one who ordered it. It was planned. He knew.


	2. Jackson's Bad Habit

Summary: Thank you for the reviews; I appreciate the feedback

**Summary: Thank you for the reviews; I appreciate the feedback! This is a stand-alone, sort of back-story set up chapter where we see Jackson stalk – er, WATCHING Lisa before the events of "Red Eye"unfold, which will come into factor in later chapters and enhance the storyline of this story. Chapter Three to come in a bit – and pick up after the events of Chapter One, and it will be much longer. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own Red Eye or the characters therein, ergo posting on , but if I did, I'd get my butt in gear and do a sequel!! Ahem. Enjoy. ; )**

_Three months ago, 10:19p.m. on a Wednesday night, in an apartment 150 feet directly across from Lisa Reisert's condominium._

Jackson lowered his high-spec binoculars and took a bite out of his half-eaten cheeseburger. "Oh, you are just a regular party _animal_, Lisa Reisert," he growled with a full mouth. He deposited the burger back in the paper carton, and donned the binoculars again, watching from the blackness of his makeshift command center as Lisa poured a bag of microwave popcorn into a large, wooden bowl on her kitchen counter.

She threw the paper bag in the trash and grabbed a slim, plastic bottle of Sprite from the fridge, padding barefoot in her soft, trendy cotton pajamas to the couch, where she set the snacks on the coffee table and tucked her feet beneath her. Completely uninhibited and off work, she leaned towards the edge of the couch with the remote in hand, snuggling against a throw pillow as she turned on the tv.

Almost distractedly, her head twitched in his direction, and though he knew she could see nothing but the glow of city lights outside the living room window, she frowned slightly and slipped away from the comfort of her 'snuggle pillow' to walk to the windows.

Jackson zoomed the binoculars on her face, smiling at the crystal clear image as transparent as if she were right in front of him. He considered snapping a picture as he had an accumulating gallery, but thought the better of it. Lisa looked out at the city night in her pajamas, hugging herself as though she had just felt a draft.

"Aw, are we cold, Leese?" he muttered half sardonically. As if she heard him, Lisa looked straight at him, and he lowered the binoculars with a start. He chuckled and lifted them back to his eyes. There was no way in hell she could see him from where she was camouflaged in the dark, and indeed, she continued to look around with a sparkle in her large green eyes, a hint of a smile and something else playing on her lips.

"_What_ are you smiling about?" he asked irritably, wanting her to do something, _anything_ to break him out of this reverie he had been in for the last five weeks, to convince him she wasn't really this warm-hearted, do-no-wrong perfect woman he had been watching for so long.

He had originally meant to only spend a few weeks at best scoping out her territory, getting an idea for how and when he would burst into her home at an ungodly hour as planned and claim the role of evil conspirator, bending her will to change Keefe's room … but something happened when he first saw her; he was drawn to her. And that had never happened before; he never got personal with his jobs. Never.

She was a break from the mold, independent, opinionated, stunning, and though the operation was squared away and his men knew what to do, Jackson felt like he was under the influence of some powerful narcotic, and he couldn't stop himself from following Lisa; she was that addicting in her simplicity.

The day was coming soon, though, when he would need to strike and confront her face to face, but until then, no one would know he lingered for much longer than necessary. And he would break it off on that day – that would be an end to it.

From across the way, he watched Lisa rub her arms once more, and close the wine-colored draperies across the huge bay windows.

Jackson sighed, and set the binoculars on the windsill, taking the burger and going over to his own couch. It was so much nicer to watch through binoculars as opposed to the gear; it felt more personal.

He set the burger carton on the coffee table, but unlike Lisa's table, his was messy and littered with pictures and blueprints of the Lux Atlantic, random black and white photos he had taken of Lisa himself, and surveillance equipment. He turned up the bugging machine until he could hear her breathing as she sat back down on the couch, and leaning over to turn on the small, thermal-infrared monitor which showed her figure on the sofa, he smiled.

He had been inside her condo many times, installing bugs in every room while she was at work. He had looked through her pictures, pet her cat, touched her clothes, checked out her book and DVD collection, inhaled her scent.

He liked to know his jobs well enough to do them well, but it was reasonable to say he had more than crossed the line with her. He knew it, but he really didn't care as no one but him would ever know. Lisa was his bad habit.

She had no boyfriend, and he could not quite figure it out, because she got looked at – _stared_ at frankly, wherever she went. But she was a no-nonsense kind of gal, and aside from politely returning the random flirtacious smile from a café corner yuppie, from what he could sense she was a complete loner.

A few days ago he had watched her drink a sea breeze, risking himself in a blind, stupid act to watch her in the mirror above the bar. She had looked up and caught him watching her from the doorway to the cafe, and he had helplessly given her a million dollar smile before disappearing from her line of sight.

"All right, Leese, what are we watching tonight?" he asked pleasantly on the couch.

She replied by flipping the channel, and he heard several cable shows being changed as she made up her mind.

In response, he picked up a different remote, and turned on his own tv, mounted on the opposite wall past the coffee table. He watched her get comfortable through the thermal monitor, smiled as she leaned into the snuggle pillow as though it were an ideally mute boyfriend she was cuddling with, and he waited until she stopped flicking, stopping at "The Philadelphia Story", which was already halfway through by the sound of things.

"_A goddess?" Cary Grant's voice spun like silk._

"Good movie," Lisa and Jackson said at the same time.

"Jinx," Jackson smiled in the dark as he found the movie on cable. He leaned back and threw an arm over the couch, as if she were right there beside him. Lisa would never know it, but they constantly finished each other's sentences – they were of one mind. He'd never encountered anyone like her.

"_No, no, no, no, you said that this afternoon," Jimmy Stewart crooned. "No. . . She's like a queen. A radiant …, Glorious Queen ... You can't treat her like other women."_

Lisa fell asleep on the couch as the movie came to an end, and Jackson watched her breathing through the monitor, subdued and peaceful.

These days he slept when she slept, worked when she worked. He lay down on the couch though he was not tired, his eyes glued to the thermal infrared monitor.

"Good night, Lisa," he whispered.


	3. There's Something Happening Here

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in "Red Eye" or anything to do with the movie, but this particular storyline and plot are mine

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in "Red Eye" or anything to do with the movie, but this particular storyline and plot are mine. Chalk up another victory for good ole' fan fiction!**

**  
Rating: This is rated M for violence (there will NOT be any violence related to sexual assaulting throughout the entire story), minor language, adult themes, scary stuff, and sexual innuendo. Nothing that wasn't in the movie. ; )**

**Author's Note: I don't know why, but when writing this chapter and the next few ones, I had "Crash Into You" by Daughtry playing in my head, which is oddly a very fitting song for Lisa and Jackson. Thank you for the comments and reviews – I fully welcome them and honest feedback of any nature is always appreciated. Please enjoy.**

_Present Day, Lisa Reisert's condo, living room (Lisa's POV)_

Lisa sat silently in disbelief, staring at Jackson on the sofa on the other side of the coffee table.

"And why am I supposed to believe anything you say?" She shot daggers at him with her eyes, the weight of their last encounter all too fresh in her mind. _Just let me reach for that gun on the kitchen floor Jack, and I'll get the hell out of here_ _after I shoot you._

"Believe me. Or don't," he said flatly, shrugging. "Either way it's true. I told you, Leese, I never lie. But it was imperative that I tell you this before I leave, because I don't know how much longer I have to live, and it's important that you know the truth about what really happened ... Answer me something. How long have you known Keefe? I mean, how did you meet him originally?"

"He's an old friend of my dad's," she said stiffly, almost prudishly. There was no need to be cagey with Jackson, not now and after all that had happened. Whatever he was doing, she would play along until she had the upper hand. "They served together in Vietnam. My dad was Keefe's platoon sergeant before Keefe became an officer, and they've remained good friends since." _Uncle Charles_, _but I haven't called him that since I was about eight._

The distance that came with Keefe's powerful political standing had drawn an invisible, official line in the warm relationship Keefe had with her family, replacing it with professional courtesy and guarded measures. It had been many years since a barbecue or dinner, but the warmth was still there when he visited the Lux Atlantic, and he would ask how she and her dad were doing each time he visited.

Jackson leaned forward, the blue fire in his eyes burning into Lisa. "This may shock you, Leese, but from the very beginning, Keefe mapped out _everything_. He wanted to get noticed, make a name for himself; and he used you and your dad as pawns to make him look like a very important contender, a viable future candidate for the presidential election in two years."

Lisa felt physically ill looking at him. "Get out of my house, you sick bastard," she snarled, and she stood up, her fists clenched. "I _know _Keefe, and the last thing he would do is hurt his famil-"

"Not everything's always what it appears to be, Lisa." The sultry, calmed demeanor and confident expression on his face enraged her.

"Stop it!" She yelled. "Jackson, whatever this is, whatever it is you're doing, enough! Do you hear me?! Your lies, your murders, I've had enough of you, and I want you out."

Jackson pursed his lips, and with some effort stood, contemplating her small figure from across the coffee table. "Fine. But change of plans. You're coming with me," he said smoothly, and he brought out his large, silver knife from behind his back, and quick as lightning he had her by the arm, his knife to her throat.

Lisa could feel the blade barely touching her chin, and against her will tears welled up. "Jackson, why can't you just leave me alone?" she pleaded with her eyes, and even used the old glance-at-his-lips routine, which had worked on a few occasions like the lavatory on the plane. She was shooting for a spark of humanity, even it was just a flicker of emotion in his pupils at best. She knew she had some sway in that department.

He leaned in menacingly, his breath warm against her mouth. He smelt of fresh soap, her soap.

"Because, I _always_ finish what I start, Leese," he said coolly. "And this time it's personal. But it's not safe here; we have to go. Now. I've packed you a bag. We're going to pay a little visit to your father, and then we're going to talk as I'd promised you. This way, if you please."

_Like I have a choice_. Lisa grunted in protest as he held her at knifepoint and led her to her bedroom. She tried to shuffle her feet to keep up with his.

Her small, rollable suitcase waited tidily upright on the bedroom floor, and the black cocktail dress she had been meaning to wear in a few hours hung visibly outside her closet. Jackson's eyes followed hers.

"Oooh, I like _that_. Bring it," he breathed in her ear, the desire in his voice unmistakable.

"No," she trembled.

"Were you planning to wear it tonight? Hmm?" he asked, his voice silky and sexy against her hair. Shivers coursed down her spine, and naked fear invaded her heart along with something else that she could not quite place.

When she did not reply, Jackson walked her over to the closet, yanking the dress down off the hanger. He placed it roughly in her hands and took her over to the bed.

"Put it in there. And hurry up, we haven't got much time." Almost distractedly, he released Lisa for a second, and she stuffed the dress recklessly into the suitcase. Jackson grabbed her, putting an arm around her and pointing the knife into her side where no one could see it.

"No funny business," he said harshly. "I'm in no mood for it." As if to prove his point, the knife pressed menacingly against her side, close enough to penetrate. Lisa walked carefully, afraid of the blade. He worked on the security panel in the entranceway until a series of high pitched beeps ensued, and unlocked the door. "Don't worry," he said, stepping past her purse on the floor and shutting the door behind them, "I fed Spence and gave him fresh water. He'll be fine."

"You asshole."

He chuckled. "You're welcome. Ha ha, there's my girl. I wondered when that fiery temper was going to make an appearance. Good times, Leese, good times."

They walked carefully down the stairs, her holding the light suitcase with both hands, him with his arm securely about her, beaming a dashing smile while the blade pressed to her back beneath her navy blue suit jacket. She glanced to the side at his throat, which bore no sign at all of a pen mark. _Where was the scar? The hole in the hollow?_

"Why do you not have a mark in your throat from where I stabbed you?" she managed to get out as she struggled to keep up with his feet and not trip.

"Let's just say I have one hell of an insurance policy, and a very skilled doctor," Jackson smirked as they walked in quick time.

He led her down to the parking lot, stopping at the silver Ford Fusion that was slightly muddied on the sides, but in otherwise pristine condition.

Lisa heard the clicking of the trunk as he pressed the trunk release button on keys in his hand that slung over her shoulder, and he drew her to him just beside the trunk, putting his hands on either side of her in a parody embrace with the knife coveted against his inner arm, pointing directly at her.

He leaned into her as if to kiss her with a staged lovesick look on his face, and she felt his lips graze hers as he spoke, nuzzling her nose with his. "Move, and I'll have to stab you," he said, arching his eyebrow suggestively. His beautiful face said Prince Charming, but his voice said Prince of Darkness. "And I'd much prefer we go the easy route this time, wouldn't you, Leese? Wouldn't that be so much better?"

Lisa frowned at him. "I hate you," she seethed.

An endearing look crossed Jackson's face as he threw the suitcase into the trunk with one hand, never turning from her.

"I love it when you talk like that," he smiled. "This way, please. You're driving." He closed the trunk and took her by the crook of her elbow to the driver's side.

"Why don't you drive?" She fidgeted, not liking the way he manhandled her.

He plonked her down in the seat, pulling the seatbelt across and buckling her in. "Because my leg's out of commission," Once again his lips were way too close.

"Keys?" She asked in her managerial voice, avoiding his eyes.

He smirked, shaking his head and tutting. "Not until I get in too, princess. Sit tight."

He shut the door in her face, automatically locking the car as he hobbled over to the passenger's side. She watched him limp slightly. He was still fast despite his injury. Damn. He unlocked the car once more and got in, sitting down with a grimace, brandishing the knife below visible sight at her. He dangled the keys before her eyes.

"Start it up. 9321 Blossom Palms Lane."

"Yeah, I know where it is, thanks," she growled, turning the engine on.

As she drove, Lisa glanced at him.

"What?" He was almost flirtacious, and she wanted to wipe that smile clean off his smarmy face.

Lisa didn't reply for a moment, then, "What I don't understand is why you think you have to kill me in front of my dad. You failed to do it that day, why didn't you just do it back at my apartment just now and have done with it?"

Jackson turned to her. "I told you, it was never my intention to kill you. I just wanted to knock you out so I could finish the job. I had a knife, Leese. If I'd wanted to kill you, all I'd have had to was-"

Now was the moment. Lisa made a hard right, jerked the car over an island and driving into a ditch in the side of the road. Jackson slammed against his side of the door, and the knife dropped to the upholstery.

She took a moment to make sure she was okay; the car was wrecked, and he had been bumped violently, but she was all right other than a few bruises and scrapes. She furiously worked the door handle, but the door wouldn't budge, so she unrolled the window and pulled herself out, starting to run up the hill past onlookers and people shouting after her that she needed a hospital.

The wind blew in her hair, but she knew her dad's house wasn't far, only about four blocks or so, and Lisa ran her heart out, cursing Jackson for leaving her purse and cell phone back at the condo.

His house was finally in sight after ten minutes of running straight, and Lisa kicked up the adrenaline to make it the last few yards, stopping and jumping when she heard a shot from inside the house. Her body jerked, and tears filled her eyes.

"Dad," she whispered. She spotted a silver BMW on the other side of the street, and for an insane moment she thought it was the Fusion, that it was Jackson. But a second shot reverberated from the house, and she was in the clutches of fear, praying what she thought had happened had not.

The new door that had been installed a few months ago was cracked open, and Lisa peeked through it, her heart beating furiously. She saw her dad lying face down in a pool of blood, and everything else didn't matter. She burst the door open, and ran to him. "Dad!" she cried, and fell to the floor beside him.

"Lisa," he croaked. There was blood, so much blood around and she was blinded by her tears, but he was still alive!

"Did you get the jump drive and the files yet?" a voice snarled from the next room.

A man, not visible from the top of the stairs called, "I can't find it!"

"Well, keep looking!" The voice from the next room grew closer, and though she knew what would happen if she didn't hide, Lisa remained by her father, turning him over and gasping at the three bullet wounds around his upper torso. She covered her mouth, sobbing.

"Leese," Joe whispered weakly, "Leaaaave."

"No," she sobbed, taking his hand. "I won't leave you."

"Shit! Bosko, the daughter's here!" she heard, and suddenly her dad's assailant was right in front of her, and she was staring up the barrel of a .40 glock with a silencer, like looking into the nostrils of an angry, insane bull. So this was how it was going to end.

A heavy, precise swooshing sound ripped through the air, and the next second the sharp end of a twelve-inch, thick blade protruded from the would-be killer's chest, directly through the heart in a clean kill. The gun dropped to the floor right next to her knee, and the assailant's long, gaunt face grew slack. He crumpled to the ground, instantly dead.

"As I was saying," Jackson stumbled into the room from the open doorway, out of breath from having caught up to her, and clearly in pain as he clutched a stitch in his side, "If I'd wanted to kill you before, that was all I'd have had to do. I may be a lousy shot, Leese, but I do have other … areas of expertise, that are more my forte. And I never miss."

Jackson slammed his steel-toed, black combat boot on the man's limp back for leverage, dark hair falling in his face as he winced from pain and extracted the knife out of the body without a second thought, wiping the blood off on the back of the man's shirt as though it were a dirty dish that needed siphoning.

"There's one more upstairs," Lisa managed through her tears, hoping to God that was why he was here.

Jackson nodded.

He picked the Glock up off the floor, and glanced at the prostrated form of her father with a frown. "Stay with him." With a knife and a gun in each hand, he ascended the steps. "Oh, Bosko!" he called cheerfully as if to a friend, and Lisa feared the worst for her and her dad at the warmth in his voice.

The fear was quickly replaced by confusion, and, (was it hope?) when Bosko said in a clearly petrified voice, "Oh _shit_! Not you! Look, Jackson, don't kill me, I'm just doing my j-" Two swift shots were fired upstairs, followed by a loud thump and a crash, and Lisa ran to the phone, rushing back to her father's side as she dialed the police. But like her phone, this one had no dial tone.

"They'd have dismantled it," Jackson said grimly, breathing hard as he came down the stairs, out of breath.

"Please don't kill us," Lisa shielded her dad's body with her own.

"I told you," Jackson said, squatting down beside her, "That's not what I'm here to do. It never was."

Joe lurched upwards at the sight of him, gripped by pain and shaking uncontrollably.

"Jackson," Lisa choked through tears, her voice heavy with emotion, "He's dying. I need to get him to a hospital! Please help me! For God's sake, do something!" She clutched Joe's hand and wept as a wave of gurgling spasms seized him again, and there was nothing she could do but cry as he faded from the world.

Jackson was by her side, kneeling with her. His sharp blue eyes surveyed her father's body. "I – I can't do anything for him, Lisa; he's critically wounded beyond help. I'm sorry." Joe suddenly reached a hand out and clutched Jackson's sleeve.

"Jackson, closet …. Vent…" Joe gulped painfully, and Lisa looked from one man to the other.

"What's he saying? How does he know?" But Jackson just nodded grimly, bolting up the stairs. Confused and overwhelmed, Lisa held fast to her father's hand as she heard Jackson ransacking the office. "Dad. . ." she said softly. "Dad, you need to hold on, okay? Hold on."

"Too late," he rasped. "Love you," he said simply, and his dark eyes clouded over, and he was still.

Lisa jolted. "No," she said firmly, shaking his arm. "Dad, hang on. No!" But it was too late, and she broke down with the reality that her father was dead, throwing herself over his body as she cried.

"Lisa." How many minutes had gone by? "Lisa," Jackson said more gently. "We have to go."

"No," she trembled with tears, not moving. She could feel his hand on her back, and though it was warm his tone was now icy cold.

"I found what they were after. We have to leave now before the clean up crew gets here. They'll be armed, and I can't take them."

She sat up, blinking at him. "Clean up crew? What are they going to do with my dad's body?"

Jackson said nothing, but took a deep breath, his eyes earnest. "Listen to me. If you don't come with me right now, Lisa, you are certainly going to die, and your dad wouldn't want that, okay? You have two options. Stay here and be killed, or come with me, and live. We can get back at these bastards, and at Keefe."

The moment was too much. Lisa started shaking uncontrollably, and broke down looking at her father's body. She began rocking back and forth, not caring what she looked like in front of this killer.

After a moment she felt him lift her off the ground, carrying her beneath her knees and upper back with items in his hands. "Come on," he whispered gruffly. Her heart broke as she watched over Jackson's shoulder – the body of her father growing more and more distant as they left the house.


	4. Unanswered Questions

Unanswered Questions

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in "Red Eye" or anything to do with the movie, but this particular storyline and plot are mine.**

**  
Rating: This is rated M for violence (there will NOT be any violence related to sexual assaulting throughout the entire story), minor language, adult themes, scary stuff, and sexual innuendo. Nothing that wasn't in the movie. ; )**

**Author's Note: Thank you for the comments and reviews – I fully welcome them and honest feedback of any nature is always appreciated. If there are current or future chapters that seem "sad" or "harrowing", it serves to enhance the plot of the story as a whole, so please know there is an underlying purpose to what I'm writing. Thanks to all who have commented. Please enjoy.**

_Jackson and Lisa's alternating POV's._

Her father's nice, red station wagon hobbled over rocky terrain, pulling Lisa from a fitful sleep. Her cheek was smashed against the passenger's side car door, and her skirt suit was wrinkled and twisted around her, hair in her face.

Through the car window she could see nothing but the pitch black night and the silhouetted prickly pine trees, passing rapidly with the car's increasing and wobbly pace. Her throat hurt, and she felt drained from having cried for so long.

Another harsh bump with the car, and she bolted upright in her seat, twisting down her skirt and looking at Jackson, who sat in the driver's seat with a determined look on her face. She noticed the drinks in the console and a paper bag wedged between the seats that he had obviously collected from a drive-thru.

"J-Jackson? Where are we?"

He didn't reply, but he looked aggravated, and she was suddenly afraid.

"Not now, Lisa, it's dark and I'm trying to focus on the road." She looked straight ahead. The 'road' was barely even that. He had turned the brights on, and it looked like someone had paved the way with a tractor on the thin course they were on. The lights reflected on the naked trunks of the tall trees as they drove further along.

"Where are we going? How long have I been out?" she asked, smoothing down her hair. Slightly more awake, she recalled curling up into a fetal position in the passenger's seat when he had set her in it upon leaving her father's house. Her father… Lisa shut her stinging eyes, but she had cried enough tears to satiate Niagra Falls earlier.

Jackson glanced at her, and she couldn't tell if he was worried about her or annoyed.

He sighed. "We're going to one of my cabins; you don't need to know the location. We'll be safe there for a while. It's around eleven, and you've been out for five hours. Here, have something to eat and drink. You've got to be hungry," he nodded towards the bag of food and the large, plastic cups with lids and straws.

She felt wiped, and guilty that she could possibly eat anything after what had happened to her father, but she pulled out the burger and fries anyway and took a sip of the Sprite he had ordered for her; her favorite.

"I have to go to the bathroom," she said quietly after eating a fry.

Jackson slowed the car down, and pulled to the side of the road, leaving the engine on. After parking, he draped an arm over her seat, turning intently to her.

"Look," he drove into her, his blue eyes tired but nonetheless persistent in the darkness, "We're not going to have any trouble here, are we? We have a sordid past when it comes to your bathroom breaks, and Leese, I'm not in the mood to dilly dally with your resourceful behaviors. I've had a very long day. We're in the middle of nowhere, and we still have a while to go."

Lisa gulped, her throat feeling a little better. "All right, I promise. No funny stuff. I just need to pee." Jackson reached into the paper bag, pulling out a few unused napkins and handing them to her. "Then let's do it." He got out of the driver's side and walked around to her side of the car, pulling the door open for her.

She got out, and her stilettos sunk partially into the gravel on the road. She wobbled a little, half from the heels and half from sitting too long. He caught her below the arms and steadied her.

"Whoa there. Ha, good thing I packed some actual shoes for you to wear. You look like a little fawn taking her first steps," he joked. Lisa looked up at him, not feeling humorous at all after everything. "Come on," he lifted her arm around his shoulder and helped her walk to a nearby bush. "Behind there, if you please," he said, turning in the opposite direction and looking up as if he was waiting for an invisible elevator.

She didn't know what was to come, but she also knew she didn't want to take her chances running through a strange, black forest wearing stilettos in the dark, so she did what she had to do and made her way back around the bush.

"There," he was smiling. "Mission accomplished. I think that may be the first thing we've ever done that didn't require massive amounts of negotiation. Now, let's get the hell out of dodge."

When the car was picking up speed, Lisa ate a bit more of her burger and turned to him, wondering what they did to her father's body, but she was even more surprised that Jackson had intervened at the house earlier.

"What?" he asked, his attention still focused as he drove.

"Nothing," she muttered, drinking her Sprite and turning to the window.

"Leese, we still have about four hours until we get there, so if you want to indulge in conversation, it would really help me stay awake and keep an eye on the road."

"I don't want to talk."

"Well, we _need_ to talk, and this is the best time for it." It came out of his mouth as an order, which he was used to giving, not like he had wanted to say it, as an invitation.

Lisa threw him a loathing look, her hair a mess and her eyes reddened. She disappeared into her grief, staring out the window and sipping her drink.

"I don't have anything to say to you. I just want to be left alone for a while."

"And I'll leave you alone; I'll give you that time to grieve when we get to the cabin. But right now you have to hear something; it bears significance to your father."

That got her attention.

"Tell me."

"I will," he glanced at her, "But first, I found this in your jacket pocket while you were sleeping," said Jackson, producing the familiar recruiters' card between his fingers that bore the blue and silver Homeland Defense crest, with Charles Keefe's administration information printed on it in immaculate font.

Lisa blushed, remembering when Charles had handed it to her before saying, "Let's talk soon, yes?" on the morning of the incident. She had kept the card with her the last three months, trying to pluck up the courage to call the recruiter, to tell herself that yes, she could embark on a new endeavor, could embrace a totally new career after coming so far in her present one. Reluctance and fear had outweighed her intrigue, but still she had kept the card as a beacon of change and hope.

"He's trying to recruit you, Lisa, to keep a close eye on you. He's a very dangerous, sick man-"

"How dare you!" She fired, not able to yell but wishing she could. "Sick man – _you're_ the one who pushed me up against a bathroom wall, and threw me down a flight of stairs!"

"That was different," he explained calmly. "I was just trying to knock you out." The cabin of the car was quiet as he drove and she thought about how screwed up this whole situation was. "Did you ever wonder why your dad wasn't more upset by the fact that there was a hit man lying in a pool of his own blood in his house when you showed up that morning after the flight? I mean, did it not seem _odd_ to you that he wasn't more shocked?"

Lisa gulped. "How do you know about that?"

"Oh, I'm just guessing," he said randomly, but his hard blue eyes looked at her and said something entirely different. "_Think_, Leese. He was expecting it. Just as he was expecting you to call from the plane. Every move that night was perfectly formulated and strategized, right up until the moment Keefe decided to pull the rug out from under us and deceive us all. I'd been corresponding with your dad under an alias, when he sent me some very interesting stuff."

Patches of angry red flushed Lisa's cheeks, and her words were punchy. "No. If you worked with my dad and he knew you, why the _hell _would he have shot you that morning?"

Jackson took a deep breath, watching the road. "Because he never saw my face; we communicated only via phone and encrypted email. All he knew was that I was a man holding his daughter by the hair in the hallway of his home, when I was trying to knock you out and get you out of harm's way. Hell, I'd have shot me, too. All bets were off when Keefe double-crossed everyone." _So much for first impressions_, he added silently, but he kept his face a mask of neutrality for the sake of brevity and tact. "I suspect he knew who I was when I was incarcerated, but of course he couldn't let on."

Lisa closed her eyes at the oncoming headache. "Okay, Jackson, A. you're a convicted liar and conspirator, B. I will never, ever believe anything you say, and C. You orchestrated the entire attack on suite 4080 that almost cost an entire family their lives, a family who is nothing but wholesome and good and innocent and kind. Tell me if I'm missing something here!"

Jackson suddenly stopped the car, and looked directly at her. "They were supposed to hit 3825. _That_ was the original plan. I was supposed to get you to change the room, they go safely to 4080 because of a 'plumbing problem', and the missile lands in 3825; voila, a foiled assassination attempt by terrorists. Then he was going to have you and your father killed in an explosion that morning at your house upon your return, so you wouldn't be able to tell anyone about it. He had men ready to detonate the house."

Lisa dropped her jaw. "Oh, and I suppose your guy in the silver beamer wasn't there to kill my dad after all, right? He was just randomly parked there, listening to his God damned soft Jazz and sharpening his KABAR?" She asked sarcastically as possible, remembering with pleasure how she had rammed the man into her father's front door with the SUV she'd stolen.

A shadow passed on Jackson's face. "No, I set him there to take you away once you'd arrived back. Those were his orders, but more than half of my men, including him, aside from the ones on that boat were double agents for Keefe, and they had separate orders to take everyone out. _That's_ why he shot at you. _I _didn't want you killed."

"And what about my _dad_?" She raged. "I suppose he was just, what - _collateral damage _to you when you got your orders? His life was worth nothing?"

Jackson turned away from her, putting his hand behind his neck and leaning against the seat. "Not nothing, Lisa. Your dad was … _insistent_ that I let him be. He said his house was ground zero, and he was depressed from the divorce, lonely. He wanted to make his death count for something since his life had taken a downhill turn. See, he had intercepted phone calls and documentation earlier on that I now have on the jump drive, of Keefe giving orders and pinpointing the exact location he wanted us to stage everything. Thanks to your dad, we have pictures of Keefe looking at the blueprints of the hotel, transcripted telephone communiqués, copies of checks, everything.

"What do you think your dad was doing the last six months since his retirement, Leese? Watching 'Days of our Lives' and 'The Price is Right'? He was a highly-trained communications expert, and he acted on his doubts. Creditably," he added, meeting her eyes with an intensity she had not seen before. They brimmed with emotion, and it occurred to her that Jackson was showing her a side of himself that people rarely saw, raw and uninhibited. "If this ever gets straightened out, he should be awarded a post-humous medal of honor for stepping in."

"Wait…" Lisa thought hard. "But the missile launched and hit 4080, right where the Keefes' were. If Keefe told you to target 3825, why did they pick the right room and launch it there anyway?"

"Because I told them to the night we boarded the plane," Jackson said smartly. "When I got that call at the Tex-Mex that I had to take when we were boarding the flight, that's when I found out. Things changed, my associate found out that almost half of the team were traitors and were Keefe's men and we were sitting ducks. I … didn't know his family was with him en route until you told me on the plane. I thought they were back in Vermont."

Could it be true? Even if it was, it didn't change things. He was still a killer. "You scared the_ shit_ out of me, and you hurt me," she seethed. "You said you do your work and move on, that you didn't care about-."

"And I felt like scum because of it!" he yelled. The echo reverberated in the car, and Lisa felt how lonely they were, surrounded by nothing but looming, towering trees in the dark. Then, lowering his voice, "God, I _had_ to scare you Lisa, don't you see? If I didn't, you wouldn't have made that call. I was desperate to make sure his plan didn't go through. That became _my _job. I had to make you hate me and fear me. Do you really want a man like Keefe as our future president? In any kind of position of power? Think about what lengths he went to just for this hoax. Who's to say he won't start a war or stage an uprising of some sort? I know his type. He's corrupt, and evil, and he needed to be taken out. Men like him are the reason we have chaos and destruction."

They stared at each other for a moment, and Jackson started the car again with a fixed expression.

After a few minutes, Lisa shook her head. "Even if what you're saying is true, it still doesn't excuse your original indifference to just let me explode in my father's house when everything was said and done ... You're a piece of work, Jackson."

Jackson held up his hands while his thumbs gripped the steering wheel. "Right back atchya. Hey, I never said I was a saint, Lisa. This is my line of work, it's what I do. I deal in munitions, arbitrage, concealment, stealth, control. Like it or not, it's my area of expertise. It's who I am, what I excel in."

"But what happened to make you change your mind to save me?" She asked, trying to get her head around why he would go to such great lengths to save her when he didn't mind killing other people. "I can understand my dad's desire to stay because I know what kind of man he was. But what made _you_ change your mind about _me_?"

_Oh, Lisa, don't open Pandora's Box_, he pleaded silently at her, thinking back to the first time Keefe had tossed the file on a desk before him in the middle of the night in a cold, bare office cast in stale lighting. There had been a small, tidy label at the top that read, "Lisa Henrietta Reisert."

He had been cocky and overly-confident, drumming his fingers on the folder while his mind counted the deniros. He was so close to retiring.

"_Sounds like a middle-aged librarian."_ Without opening the folder, he had agreed to do the assignment for the paltry sum of twenty million dollars, and that night after a lonely, celebratory Scotch on his magnificent five star hotel bed, he had flipped open the dossier to the most beautiful face he had ever seen, and it literally took his breath away. Everything after that moment had been pretty much mute.

How to answer her question? _Bad things happen to good people… like you. You know, I've been watching you for a while now, Lisa. Before tonight, I mean … I've been watching you for eight WEEKS now…_

"I got to know you," he replied carefully. "And I didn't want you to get killed. There are worse ones for that." He glanced at her, hoping she could read his eyes.

She shook her head. "I'm having a hard time believing that, considering you came at me in my house with a knife and tried to kill me."

Jackson rubbed his forehead, but remained calm. He was always a good driver. "For the thirtieth time, my intention was to knock you out and bring you out here where you'd be safe. Killing you would've been too easy. If it meant hurting you a little to save your life, I had to. I … wasn't counting on you to be so agile and battle-hardened," he admitted, half smirking to himself, and half embarrassed.

"You _threw me down a flight of stairs_," she bore into him, the question lingering in the car.

Jackson shrugged, and she grew furious when he even cracked a smile.

"Hey, you busted my windpipe. And you wouldn't conk out when I pushed you against the wall in your bedroom. I had to get you to stop, Lisa, any way that I could. I thought the house was going to explode at any second, and my number one priority was to get you out of there and finish the job."

_My heart skipped a beat when I saw you at the bottom of those stairs. I thought you were dead,_ he added silently, remembering how vulnerable she had looked, limp and laxed against the foot of the stairs. It wasn't until he heard the police siren approaching that he realized Keefe wasn't going to blow up the house; it would have been a stupid move, so he had tried to escape, only to be shot by both Lisa and her father.

"Why didn't they blow up the house?" she asked as if reading his thoughts, and he could sense her guard was still up, that she didn't fully believe him. Well, one look at next week's houseguest would change all that; he was certain of it.

Jackson shrugged. "I still don't know. You changed everything, and I'm betting Keefe called off his dogs from doing it, since you technically saved his ass. You're an invaluable resource, Lisa, and he wants you on his team."

She gave him an exasperated look. "I'm just a hotel manager."

He smirked, and took a sip of his drink from the console. "_Just_ a hotel manager? Give yourself more credit than that, Miss Reisert. You fit the profile in my line of work exactly. Let's see; junior figure skating finalist at the age of fifteen, Varsity Cheerleader and Lacrosse captain in your senior year, you're authoritative, smart, mature, you're in excellent condition and can run a mile in under six and a half minutes, and you took out a highly trained professional with an SUV."

"And I kicked your ass," she added with a slight smile through her grief.

"Yeah, well, I let you," he shifted his eyes around the road. "I didn't want to kill you."

"Keep telling yourself that, Jackson," the hint of playfulness undermined her brunt tone of voice, and he smiled at her.

Fighting a yawn, Lisa got more comfortable against her seat, nestling her tangled hair against the headrest. He glanced at her.

"You know, why don't you conk out for a bit? We can talk tomorrow, and you need some rest."

"I'm not tired," she yawned, and as her eyes closed she missed the smile that played on Jackson's lips. He touched her hair, and drove until dawn.


	5. The Cabin

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Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in "Red Eye" or anything to do with the movie, but this particular storyline and plot are mine.

**  
Rating: This chapter contains harsh language, mild violence, and sexual innuendo.**

**Author's Note: Thank you very much for the comments and reviews! I am trying a different avenue of approach for a sequel, as in one of the interviews Wes Craven gave in this regards, he mentioned the characters would really need to be extended in order to make a decent sequel. This is just fan fiction, but in my mind's eye I can see a deeper past to Jackson, and a potential in Lisa to shift careers and get gung ho to the point where they could become an unstoppable team. :D This chapter is pretty long, but I felt the need to write what I did, so there you have it! All comments and critiques are more than welcome and appreciated. Guilty pleasure for the dojo scene. Hee hee. Thank you! : )**

_Jackson and Lisa's alternating POV's._

Warm slivers of sunlight played upon Lisa's closed eyelids, rousing her from a deep, dreamless sleep. She blinked a few times, and the room blurred into focus. With it, the inertia of the last day leant its weight to her senses, and the images enveloped her all at once: the call from Brian after a long day, Jackson at her apartment, her father, dead … painful moisture welled up in Lisa's eyes, and a tear escaped, sliding down her cheek.

She sat up alertly, impatiently brushing the tear aside.

The first thing she noticed was that she was no longer in her suit; her bra and panties were still in place with the feeling of having worn them for the last day, but she was now in a large, soft grey button shirt with long sleeves. She checked the cuff. A man's. She sniffed it, encountering only the fresh scent of fabric softener, but with a gripping, horrifying sensation, she knew exactly whose shirt it was.

She touched a hand to her chest and moved her legs a little. Her body did not feel violated or any different – had he actually _changed_ her while she was asleep? The concept of his murderous hands upon her flesh sent ice through her veins.

She began looking around, and at the foot of the full-sized bed, a yellow Labrador sat upright on the floor, quiet and on guard as he watched her. Her eyes traveled to the collar and shiny tag, then back to the dog's intent face. He definitely looked on point, staring her down.

Jackson's dog. _"He's a good dog, he responds only to his master's voice."_

"I have to get out of here," Lisa hastily wiped her eyes with her fingers and flipped back the covers of the warm quilt, her shapely legs exposed. She sucked in her breath as the chilly air met her all the way from her toes to her thighs. The floor was thankfully carpeted with plush Berber, but her legs craved warmth.

Wide awake now, she took in the room around her. She was on a top floor or a loft of some sort; there were several windows and two thin balcony doors that led to a small, crescent-shaped balcony. The ceiling slanted upwards into a roof, rustic but nonetheless expensive-looking thick wood framing the entire structure. _It must be late morning,_ she thought, squinting at the full sunlight peeking through the sheer curtains.

Not far from her bed, a wooden staircase descended into a curve just a few feet away, and the fair-sized, rectangular room was furnished with a chest of drawers, night stand, three bookshelves crammed with books, a full size mirror and a closet, all teakwood.

The color of the walls and siding were warm and in keeping with the theme of the cabin; rugged and homely-looking, obviously occupied by a man. She noticed a lack of pictures or wall décor, nothing familial or emotional. This was his room all right, masculine and empty – not a room he spent a great deal of time in, but a room he merely slept in. But how often?

Lisa spotted her open suitcase lying across the brown armchair on the other side of the bed. She rounded the bed towards it, wanting to get out of his shirt and into her own clothes. Looking back at the bed, she grew more and more disconcerted by the deep indent; had Jackson slept beside her last night? Drugged her or shot her with something so she didn't know what was happening? Could she trust him?

The Keefe story he told her in the car did raise alarms in her mind and made her wonder, but she still knew she needed to be on her guard with him. He had that lingering, unstable air of threat, and he was obsessed with her.

She froze as the yellow lab regarded her with intent, glossy eyes, but the moment she moved, he broke out of his trance, standing up on all fours and wagging his tail. He nosed up to her hand with a low whine, nudging his head beneath her palm for a fuss. _He's good natured. Thank God._ Relief swept over her as she moved a grateful hand over his head and ears. She turned the black tag on his collar over.

_Cooper_

"Hi Cooper," she afforded a small grin. He barked once, throwing his head back with a doggy smile, and Lisa started, her eyes darting around wildly. What if Jackson heard it? He would know she was awake for certain. She put a finger to her lips in a feeble hope that the dog would take the hint, and rushed to her suitcase, wildly thumbing through the folded up clothing Jackson had selected for her.

"Insane," she murmured, randomly grabbing a pair of jeans, underclothes, and a nice, long-sleeved white cotton top that she had bought on sale, but had not bothered to wear yet. She spotted her running shoes to the side of the chair, hoping when the time came that they would serve their purpose.

The house was extremely quiet. She listened for any sign of Jackson, then put the clothes on the bed, and hurried across the cold room to look out the windows. Perhaps he'd gone?

On the mountainous ground below the cabin, she spotted her dad's red Volvo, and three chickens pecking at feed not far from it. Chickens? There wasn't much but pine trees and foliage beyond it, so she looked out the next window, and bolted straight back from the curtain at the sight below.

Jackson was there chopping wood, in nothing but trousers and boots. The sinewy, hard muscles of his arms and shoulders moved with his exertion, but his face was surprisingly calm and concentrated. A decent-sized pile was accumulating next to him, and to his left was a fencepost that housed an empty corral. No horses. She watched him work for a moment, feeling a mixture of emotions at having the advantage of spying on him for once. She gasped when he turned his face sharply up to her a few seconds later, and she ran to her clothes on the bed, getting changed at the speed of light.

* * *

Outside, Jackson breathed deeply as sweat trickled down his chest. He lowered the clutched axe in his palm as his lips stretched into a slight grin. She had such a startled look on her face, like the time he'd played with her as the flight took off, asking if she was stalking him. He chuckled low, and put another log on the chopping block, lifting his arms and deftly wielding the axe to split it in two.

* * *

A few minutes later with Cooper at her heels, Lisa made her way cautiously down the curved wooden stairs to the bottom floor, which led to a living room. The furniture was in keeping with the bedroom; rustic, basic, masculine. A stone hearth added a dash of nicety to the room, which was hard-floored and windowless. There was only one exit through a hallway, and she noted while making her way slowly towards it that four tall teakwood bookshelves were pushed together to create a wall in what would have been one huge room.

She passed the wall of bookshelves in the small hall. To her right there was a hall that led to a kitchen, and to her left, she glimpsed a small cove which Jackson presumably used as a medical room of some sort. It looked like a cross between a room at a doctor's office and a surgical pantry, complete with cupboards and sink, an operation table, and equipment carefully placed, boxes of medicines stacked in a corner.

Another wall, and she came upon what she could describe as nothing but a command center. The room was small, but packed with two large desks, two state-of-the-art computers and dual extended monitors, a laptop docking station, maps all over the walls, and everything Jackson would effectively need to run an office from home, and more.

"The power of the Pentagon in the nook of my living room," Jackson said smoothly. She jumped, instantly hating herself for it, and turned to find him leaning in an open black shirt against the wall that led to the kitchen, his forearm against the wall. "Hi."

Lisa gulped, fully awake. "Hi."

* * *

Cooper nudged his master for a pet, which Jackson obliged for an instant, still keeping his eyes on Lisa. He began buttoning up his shirt, all business as he looked at her choice of outfit, his eyes lingering slightly on her soft white shirt and the messy curls of her auburn hair before returning his bright blue gaze to her emerald ones. "How are you feeling? You were dead as a doorknob this morning when I brought you in."

"Did you drug me?" she asked directly.

Jackson lifted his eyebrows. "Not at all. You wouldn't wake up, Leese, I tried. Must have been all the stress from yesterday's exhertions," he said in a milder tone.

* * *

Lisa's mouth tightened, and she held on to the picture in her mind of her dad, lying motionless on the floor.

Feeling slightly more up to par, she tamed her hair back with her hand. "I need a shower."

"Right around the corner. Towels are above the toilet, and your accessories and toothbrush are unpacked, where they usually are in your apartment. No sharp objects," he added darkly. "We don't want any happy little repeats of our last encounter."

Lisa stared at him. "Do you have any idea how creepy you sound sometimes?"

He gave her a little shrug, as though stalkers brought their stalkees home every day, and arranging her objects where she was used to having them was the most natural thing in the world.

"Everything you need is in there. Get cleaned up, then come into the kitchen when you're done, hmm? I'll make some food, and we can talk."

Lisa sidled past him into the bathroom, avoiding his gaze, and shut the door quietly.

* * *

Jackson waited outside the bathroom for a moment, listening to her run the water from the faucet and the thistly scrubbing of her toothbrush mingled with the low running tap.

At the last minute he decided to change his attire and clean up from the work he'd been doing. Cooper followed him up the stairs.

Twenty minutes later, he had made omelets with the groceries he'd bought en route early in the morning.

Lisa came out from the bathroom with combed hair and minimal make-up, which was how he liked her. She was naturally beautiful, and it pleased him that she didn't need to cake on a thousand pounds of Revlon to be attractive. Knowing she was still in the midst of grief, he kept his face solemn and impassive as he pulled out a chair for her.

* * *

She eyed him warily, but sat down as he dished out the omelet on her plate. It looked and smelled delicious, and he'd even sprinkled cheese and added a sprig of parsley on the side. The cutlery was cheap plastic, she was sure purposefully. Her stomach gurgled with the strains of hunger, but she neglected the food and looked up at him.

"Why am I here, Jackson? I want a straight forward answer. And where are we? Is this your house?"

Jackson dished up his own plate and sat down across from her at the small, circular table, breaking into his own omelet with a fork. "You are here to keep me company for the next week, so I can keep you safe until you get put in the Witness Protection program."

Lisa frowned. "Wait … backtrack. I thought you said you're not in the CIA anymore."

He shrugged, eating his omelet with gusto. "I'm not. But I cut a deal with some influential people, in return for my release and all charges dropped, to provide them with the information on the thumb drive we collected yesterday," he bit back a grin,"Amongst some other small things I need to do, and incidentally, I got you thrown in as part of the package."

Lisa laughed derisively. "Part of the _package_? I have a hard time believing the government would just _give me _to you_."_

Jackson swallowed and continued to chow down. "Believe what you want, princess, but you know I don't lie. There's a price on your head right now, and I just saved your life."

Lisa looked despondently down at her omelet, feeling her nerves flare up. Her eyes stung, but were dry. "You didn't save my dad's though," she said quietly.

"Look at me."

She raised her eyes to his, and conflict of emotion that she'd only ever witnessed when he found her scar swam in his lipid blue eyes. There was something else though, bordering on earnestness. "I'm sorry about your father, Lisa. I did everything I could to get there before they did, but I wasn't fast enough. I wish I had been."

Lisa sucked in her cheeks, her gaze returning to her food before her. After a few silent minutes, she started to cut off little bites and eat. The delicious richness of the omelet betrayed the sour feeling in her heart. Cooper appeared beside her and nudged her leg with his nose, whining low.

Jackson called the dog over and scratched him behind the ears.

"As for this place," he spoke as if the conversation hadn't died off. "This is one of my places to retreat. You don't need to know the location, as you won't be here very long. Just enjoy what time you have here before you start over. I see you've met Cooper."

Lisa chewed her food, avoiding his eyes. "How do you keep this place up if you're never here?"

"I don't," he said simply. "My assistant lives here and takes care of things. I sent him off on a vacation when we got here this morning. He'll be back in the next few days to watch over you until they're ready to put you in Witness Protection, and I'll be out of your hair for good. So you just have to entertain me and deal with me for one week, that's it. Think you can handle it?"

Lisa looked at him candidly. "I'm not going to sleep with you, Jackson, so if that's what you want you can get it out of your head right now. It's never going to happen."

He didn't reply, and was unusually quiet on the other side of the table, regarding her with a poker face over templed fingers.

The daylight wafting in from the windows reflected in his eyes, lending a milky blue brightness to his pupils, and she could see the clogs turning in his mind as he studied her. He was so cute and insane, sitting there in his open-throated maroon polo shirt, the starchly-white tee shirt beneath adding the laid-back air of a handsome, young CEO off of work. Lisa clanged her fork down, wanting his eyes off of her.

"_What_."

He smirked. "I'm not going to lie and say I wouldn't _like_ to sleep with you, Leese. In fact, nothing would give me greater satisfaction."

Her jaw dropped open, and against her will she blushed. Jackson raised an eyebrow, smiling a devilishly handsome smile. "But the truth is, you're mostly here because I need your help with something," he said smoothly.

_Here we go again._

"Why am I not surprised," the hint of irony lingered in her voice like a veil of thin smoke. When had Jackson ever _not _needed her without an ulterior motive in mind? She shifted in her chair, glancing at him cagily. "Let me guess – you have something that only _I_ can accomplish in the time you need it done, something that requires authority that only I have."

"Exact-amundo."

"Fine. I'll help you, but in return, I want to go to my dad's funeral."

The look of smugness fell from his face, replaced by a solemn stare._ I knew we were going to have problems._ "I'm afraid that's out of the question."

Lisa stood up, throwing her napkin on her half-eaten omelet. "Then all deals are off," she said coldly, turning to leave the room.

She heard the scrape of his chair and his footsteps fast behind her, and her pulse quickened. In the hallway to the living area, he seized her by the elbow, drawing her roughly to him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he snarled, and she searched his eyes as he gripped her harder.

"There you are, _Jack_," she bit out. "I knew you'd show yourself sooner or later. What is it – you're a damned gentleman every time you get your way, but the second you don't, Mr. Hyde sure shows himself, doesn't he? A mature, professional way to handle things, isn't it."

* * *

Despite the rage boiling inside, Jackson took a deep raspy breath, blinked and softened his hold on her somewhat. This was not how he wanted things to go down. Not at all.

Glancing down, he tried a different tactic, making his voice as coaxing as possible, but mingled with his anger they came out strained and harsh. "Your father has a password on that thumb drive. I can't hack it, and I have to do it before I turn it in to make sure we have everything we need on Keefe. You're the only one who could possibly know what that password it is, Leese, since you know him better than anyone else. I _need_ you to discover the password in the next few days, or all bets _will be_ off, and you'll have no guarantee of safety. They'll kill you the second you come into view, and I'll go back to prison."

Lisa gave him a withering look. "Cry me a river. I don't know what I would do if you ever went back to jail, Jackson. Of course, it'd make my life a lot nicer for not having you in it," she sneered, inches away from his face.

Jackson tried to keep his cool, but was finding it increasingly difficult. "Leese," he said through clenched teeth, "You're not being reasonable. What you're asking is impossible. You don't seem to understand the repercussions-"

* * *

"Well, it must be my female-driven, emotion-based dilemma clouding my brain, huh?" she seethed, breaking her arm away from his. "But you're a manager just like me. You know the art of negotiation well, so don't pretend you don't. You want that password? I want to go to my dad's funeral. Make it happen." She gave him a piercing glare, and stalked around the corner.

"Where are you going?" he asked, following her. He sounded amused, given the close proximity of the cabin.

"I don't know!" She yelled, stomping up the stairs. "Away from you!" Cooper whined up at his master, then followed Lisa upstairs.

She sunk into a wooden rocking chair by the window she'd glimpsed Jackson from earlier, and covered her eyes with a hand as she sobbed. She heard Jackson quietly come up after her, but she would not move when she could sense him hunkering down before her.

"All right, Leese. We still have time. I know you're hurting, so I'll tell you what. I'll leave you alone today," he sighed, "And tomorrow if you want. When you're ready, we can talk some more about what's going to happen now, and maybe you'll realize how important that password is and you'll help me before I have to draw it from you.

"You're free to roam about the property, but I should inform you it's secured by electrified wire all around, so you will be in the worst pain of your life if you try to climb the fences. But you can go on walks if you want to and look around …" she thought he would leave, but he let out another deep breath, and tried to get her to meet his eyes as he squatted on his haunches.

Jackson softened his voice. "I can only tell you I'm sorry I wasn't there to prevent your father's death. I know you want to go to the funeral, but you're marked, Leese, and if you set one toe on that grass, they will take you out in a heartbeat. Your life as you knew it is over, and it's time to start fresh. For … what insignificant amount it's worth, I'm glad you're alive, that I was able to save you before they got to you. I want you to _stay_ alive, Lisa, but I need your cooperation for that to happen."

Lisa looked at him, saw the pleading in his eyes, strangely darkened-blue dancing with reflections of the dust mites caught by the sunlight. "If you want it to happen so badly, you know what needs to happen on your side," she murmured in a significant tone.

Her father's death all too vivid in her mind, Lisa turned her head to the window as fresh tears overtook her cheeks, and Jackson left her sitting there with Tucker by her side.

As he rested his head against his arm, leaning on the wall in the stairwell, Jackson listened to her sob and wondered if he'd done the right thing by intervening in her life to save his own. At what cost had he brought this pain on her?

* * *

Two days passed, and Lisa crawled further into her grief.

True to his word, Jackson prepared their meals with surprising talent and brought her water periodically, but she would not eat when he was in the same room. It was a tug of war of will, and the stakes were high. He slept on the couch downstairs, and was maddeningly pleasant to her, asking if she were hungry or thirsty.

Avoiding him, she explored the outside premises with Cooper at her heels. The property expanded into several acres of beautiful, green woodland and walking paths. The voltage from the stories-high fences around the perimeter hummed with electricity, and she knew that trying to escape would mean death itself.

Lisa knew there was a basement to the small cabin, but she didn't venture there. There was a barn that housed a Jersey cow, and a chicken coop.

On one of her walks back late in the evening, she noticed Jackson leaning against the corral gate, watching her return as he whittled a bird from wood with a sharp military knife. She had found several of these birds, finished and hand-painted, on some of the windowsills throughout the house. That he should be so artistic never would have entered her mind, but while in the bedroom alone, she studied the detailed, chiseled features of a wooden blue jay, each intricate, skilled detail he had carved into its face.

On the morning of the third day, Lisa made her way down to the kitchen table in the morning, morose and wearing one of Jackson's large Notre Dame sweatshirts she had found in a drawer, and her sweatpants, picking carelessly at cut-up cantaloupe and honeydew melon Jackson had left for her with a plastic fork. The sweatshirt drooped on her shoulder, exposing her black bra strap as she sat with her feet tucked up to her body on the chair and pretended to eat. She'd pulled her hair into a messy, I-could-care-less cross between a ponytail and loose knot, and auburn strands curled in her face.

The viewing was tonight, and they were burying Joe Reisert tomorrow. She would miss her father's funeral, and it was all Jackson's fault. She hated him, and spent the second day crying in bed with memories of her youth, moping around the cabin, remaining in whatever room he wasn't in, reading books or just staring out the window. The last time she had felt so detached and torn up was the rape. It revolted her to be digressed to this, and she knew it was infuriating Jackson, though his quiet patience surprised her.

She had never been one to lay blame where blame didn't deserve to fester, but placing it on Jackson gave her great pleasure, and she enjoyed making his life hell after what he had done to hers. It felt good to toss a little back where it had been given.

Jackson entered the room, but she sat still. _I'll be damned if I'm going to leave this time, I'm not done with breakfast. _He was wearing nice black sweats, and looked refreshed like he'd just been working out or had gone for a run. His skin was radiant.

Lisa continued to nurse her bowl of fruit, but slowed when Jackson sat down, taping the table and glaring at her for a little longer than necessary. She met his eyes for the first time in days and frowned, tilting her head back to her food. _What do you want_.

"Come down to the basement with me."

To which she responded with an immediate, "Hell, no." He was the last person she wanted to be in the basement of a cabin in the middle of nowhere with.

His demeanor was unusually calm and polite. He seemed way too happy, and something in his chilly blue eyes told her to be very afraid. "I just want you to come downstairs to my basement so I can show you something. I'm asking _nicely_." Shivers coursed through her at the edge in his voice. _A twelve-inch KA-BAR. That's a _knife_, Leese._

So here it came, the façade meltdown, the split personality revelation she'd been waiting on. He got her father killed and had worked her into this depression, and now was the time when he would exact his revenge.

The fear that had invaded her heart on the plane with his sinister looks; the unspoken question of what must he do in his personal life, his demon, had always lingered. She knew Jackson had a beast within that could not be contained. He wanted to show her, and by God she would not be shown. Whatever was in the basement could remain there.

"I'm staying right here," she whispered, though there was no need to in the quiet kitchen.

He shrugged, and lowered his head with a pointed look at her from the tops of his eyes. He meticulously folded up a wayward napkin, rolling it perfunctorily into a napkin holder on the table.

"Fine. But if you don't come down in the next few minutes, Leese, things are going to start getting unpleasant around here. I don't think I have to spell it out for you. I'll let you decide." And with that, he sauntered to a nearby door she hadn't noticed before, opening it and jogged down the steps before tossing her an award-winning smile.

Lisa sat there, staring at the pale orange of the cantaloupe chunk she speared at the end of her fork, debating whether or not she wanted to play his little game. She loathed him. Did she have a choice?

"Liiiiiiiiissssssaaaa!" Her name rang through the open door to the basement, echoing through the house.

Frowning, Lisa stood, walking to the door and looking down the stairs. It looked bright enough, and it didn't smell like anything decrepid or gross. In fact, it smelled like someone had recently been cleaning, a lemony-fresh scent. Cursing the trembling hand that she placed on the railing, she took a step down, then hesitated.

Jackson's smiling face appeared at the foot of the stairs, and she could see he had taken his shirt off, but his trousers were still on. He was grinning from ear to ear, fitting black sports gloves on his hands.

"Come on down, I want to show you my work out room," he said cheerfully. She decided she was being foolish, and walked carefully down the steps, still within the cloud of depression. Great, so he was going to brag. Nothing new there. Arrogant son of a-

Just as she rounded the corner at the foot of the stairs, she caught sight of an entire bare room with dark blue, thickly-padded gym floormats, but the exploration was short lived as a hard force met the backs of her calves, and she was knocked to the mat. Jackson appeared above her holding a long staff of some sort, it looked Japanese.

He put a foot between her legs, and stood looking down at her maliciously.

"Get up." All kindness and warmth had disappeared completely from his voice, replaced with a deadly tone.

Lisa didn't need telling twice. She scrambled backwards and stood up as fast as her feet would allow her, clutching her fists pathetically and looking around for some sort of weapon to use on him.

"Take your choice," he smirked.

"What _is_ this?" she asked, gasping and looking around at the amount of swords and gear mounted on the walls that she missed when she'd been floored. Was that actually a pair of daggers below a set of num chucks and throwing stars?! He roughly threw the staff in his hands to her, which she caught out of sheer surprise and fear that it would hit her. He grabbed an identical staff from the wall, walking over to her. His strong muscles moved sinewy beneath him as he approached, and she tried to focus on his eyes, but they were a distraction too, drinking her in with blue intensity. Damn.

"I though it'd be fairly obvious. Let's not play twenty questions. We're past that. By the way, I'd recommend taking your shirt off, sweetheart. It's going to get hot, and I want to see you sweat." Jackson raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Lisa started to tell him to shove his staff where the sun didn't shine, but she looked down at herself and realized she would never be able to move in his tent-like Notre Dame sweatshirt, and if this was what she thought it was, his revenge, the moment of her potential freedom, she wanted to be able to fly if necessary.

Keeping her eyes on him in case he advanced, she quickly lifted the shirt over her head, grateful she had put a bra on before coming down for breakfast. She let the shirt flutter to the ground and quickly picked up the staff in front of her.

Jackson slid the end of his staff into the open neck of the discarded garment, lifting it and bringing it to his nose, where he inhaled deeply and looked at her with a lustful expression that sent shivers down her spine. "Mmm. Smells like you, Leese. I'll never wash it again," he said coldy, caressing it to his cheek; and with a flick of the staff, his evil expression returned as he sent the shirt flying.

* * *

He held the staff out before his body with both hands in a martial arts pose, and started to circle her as though she were a prey, and he the predator. Under any other circumstances, she would have laughed at the dramatic seriousness on his face, reminiscent to boys that play cowboys and Indians and throw themselves fully into imaginary battles. But the truth was, he looked murderous and extremely capable, and a naked animal fear invaded her heart at just how equipped she actually was to deal with this on his home turf, not hers. "Jackson … what are you doing."

"What does it _look_ like I'm doing?" He asked dangerously, and there was the real Jackson, stripped to the core, the Jackson that she knew was in there. "Do you want me to _write it down_?" He cocked his head with menace, using the same sarcastic, condescending tone and question he had asked her on the plane.

This triggered something inside of Lisa – a buried, deep emotion that awoke her and wanted to take all the men in the world that ask if you "can file" and if you "understand what they're saying", and teach them a lesson.

Lisa snapped, and she toughened up and gripped the staff for dear life, giving him her best war face, which her dad had taught her when introducing her to field hockey. She thought of him then, and that incensed her even more.

She charged at Jackson, and soon their staffs were clinging each other harshly. He held nothing back, and attacked her with a brutal, full force that she did her very best to defend, though he was undoubtedly stronger and more trained.

One blow hit her right hand, and she cried out in pain, wincing and turning to the side for a moment. Jackson took advantage of her weakness, and his staff almost made contact with her flesh before she brought hers around again to fend him off; and giving him a primal, savage yell, she attacked him full on, figuring if she was going to die today by the hands of this man, she was not going out without giving it her best shot.

The two fought around the room, clanging into walls and struggling their light weights against one another, but Lisa held firm. He had the advantage of strength, but one thing he had always underestimated was her longevity, and her willingness to stick it out to the bitter end. She was a fighter, and always would be.

* * *

Her elastic flew out of her hair at one point, letting a cascade of auburn red tumble about her shoulders. Jackson sucked in his breath at the sight of her, caught off guard. A transfixed expression blanked his face out for the moment that seemed to happen in effervescent slow motion, and she took advantage of his fugue to try and beat him, coming very close to doing so.

They each dripped with sweat and flew around the dojo, locking staff to staff, but he soon overpowered her, flinging his stick beneath hers and sending it careening to the other side of the room. He tripped the back of her ankles, sending her crashing to the mat on her back, and gripped his staff firmly in both hands as he aimed it below her chin with a death blow stance.

* * *

Lisa panted heavily. She raised herself on her elbows and peered up at him, laden with cool perspiration and completely done in, tiny wet beads sitting above her bra, throat, face, and all over her chest as she heaved with the effort. Her hand was bleeding and aching profusely, and Jackson was pretty worked as well, his skin colorful and prominent flesh stretched over the hard stones of his muscles, his defined abs slick with sweat.

"What are you waiting for, _Jack_?" she breathed, "If this is it, do it, and make it quick. Come on, asshole. Get your fucking sweet revenge and be satisfied. _Come on_. Do it."

Jack watched with glittering eyes and parted lips as she narrowed her own eyes up at him with all the malice and rage she possessed, completely unaware that she looked like a goddess. He privately took note, thankful as the image would forever remain burned in his brain.

In what seemed like a nanosecond, he did three things that absolutely blew her away. He let up with his staff, throwing it to the side, smiled down on her while nodding his head as if agreeing with something that thoroughly amused him, and he pounced upon her before she had time to react, straddling her muscle-failed body with his own, flesh upon flesh and sweat upon perspiration as he pinned her hands to her sides.

She could feel his hips grind against hers, the ripples in his strong arm muscles against her slim, toned biceps, could see the fire in his eyes blaring hate and malice and lust into her own.

This was it.

She had nothing left, and didn't even fight him. He would do what he would do – there was no point fighting a losing battle, not now after her dad had died in the crossfire of chaos brought on by this man. But again, Jackson surprised her by leaning down menacingly close. He placed a light, feathery kiss on her lips. It lasted only a few seconds, but his soft lips against hers sent unexpected, pleasant frissons throughout her body, electric in their intensity.

"It's good to have you back, Leese," he grinned and winked in a sexy way. Jackson got up off of her, returning the staffs to the wall. He began walking upstairs after throwing a towel over his bare shoulder and whistling some unrecognizable tune.

Lisa stayed on the floor, completely out of breath and topless and shocked, her eyes wide. Her lips still tingled from the quick kiss, and when she was sure he was gone, she touched her fingers to them, looking wildly around the ceiling as her heart galloped.

It took a moment to let it sink what had just happened, but she sat up, putting her arms around her knees and breathing in carefully. Her bra clung to her damp form, drenched in perspiration.

The weight of the last few days bore upon her, and she wept silently for the last time, letting all the tears and emotions out for her dad that demanded it, rocking back and forth and wiping her tears with the back of her good hand, while the left hand throbbed.

A half an hour later, she donned the sweatshirt on again and ascended the steps slowly, feeling better. Stronger.

Jackson was waiting in the kitchen, holding out a glass of ice water. He didn't say a word and was oddly nonchalant; however, he did force her to sit down while he cleaned her hand with a white washcloth dipped in a basin of fresh water, gingerly applying antibiotic ointment to the wound on her hand, and a bandage around her right palm.

They glanced at each other a few times as he taped up the bandage. She thought she saw a hint of a smile in his eyes.


	6. Lift Off

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in "Red Eye" or anything to do with the movie, but this particular storyline and plot are mine.**

**Rating: This chapter contains mild language.**

**Author's Note: Thank you for the comments and reviews! My apologies for not updating sooner – I will try to keep the updates more current; I am just working on a long-term project, and this is my sort of guilty-pleasure writing sabbatical that I come to whenever I need a break from it to avoid going insane ; ). And I'm sure y'all know what I'm talkin' bout. I'll try to update more currently. Most of the next few chapters are already written; I just need to flesh them out.**

**To reply to the insightful reviews posted, Brian (the new love interest Lisa's been on a few dates with) has not fallen off of the face of the earth as we will see in this chapter; good eye there. As far as Joe Reisert getting killed – well, sigh, "them's the breaks." Dad had to die. At least for this story. I immensely enjoy writing this particular piece as I love the characters of Lisa and Jackson and their many dimensions. Christmas wish Wes Craven announces an upcoming sequel! :) Thanks for reading!**

_Jackson and Lisa's alternating POV's._

A few hours had passed since their romp in the basement, and Lisa paused in front of the steamy bathroom mirror, an open mascara tube in her good hand as she finished her minimal make-up. She hadn't bothered to wear any in the last few days, but somehow it felt as though she should start making an effort; Jackson seemed to reward her compliance with freedom, and she wanted to test those waters in any way, shape or form possible. There was a small makeup bag with all her usual products and colors, never opened, waiting for her on top of the toilet seat tank upon investigation.

"Get dressed," Jackson's voice seeped brusquely through the thin door.

Fresh from the shower with a towel wrapped around her body, the thin, strawberry-colored scar above her breast poked out above the towel's brim, pointing slanted like a jagged, pink little blade – stark against soft white flesh. She turned to the door, twisting close the lid on the mascara.

"Why?"

"Because I'm taking you out," he said, his voice slightly muffled.

"I thought you have hit men for that," she tossed at the door.

"Hit men are shit. I do my own dirty work." She could hear the grin in his voice. "Open the door, Lisa. I have something for you."

Lisa put a hand to her chest modestly, tightening the large bath towel around her. "No, I'm still in my towel. Let me put on my clothes first."

Without a further invitation, Jackson opened the door, a smarmy look on his face with a raised eyebrow. He had changed into black slacks and a black turtleneck, which made his neatly-combed, russet-colored hair and clear blue eyes stand out like glittering, amethyst stars in a blackened sky.

"Jackson!" Lisa yelled, but her temperament was short-lived upon spotting her black cocktail dress, swaying from a wire hanger in his right hand. _Brian. Oh my God._

A fleeting memory of Brian scribbling his number down on the flimsy dry cleaning sheet that was attached to the dress hanger several weeks ago raised alarms in her mind. _Did Jackson see it? Did I leave it in the pocket of the purse when I bought it, after Brian gave it to me? _Fear flooded through her at all the possible ways Jackson could react. She tried to elicit if he had an inkling, but his face was an unreadable mask of determination.

"Put _this_ on instead," he held out the dress.

"No! Get out!" she squealed, her eyes ablaze.

Unfazed, he simply regarded her with mild nonchalance, eyeing her up and down, as if looking to see if she were hiding a weapon behind her back. "Take it, and change into it. We're leaving in less than twenty minutes," he stepped into the bathroom, and though admittedly she felt somewhat more trusting towards him, the underlying trepidation awoke her to the reality of her situation the closer he came to her body.

Lisa immediately took a step back, shielding as much of her chest as she could. "Get out, I said!"

With a knowing, arrogant look, Jackson stepped towards her, yanking the mascara tube from her good hand and replacing it with the hanger.

Lisa looked forebodingly down at the dangling dress, noticing the lack of the cover sheet from the dry cleaners. Her eyes darted up at Jackson, and she held the dress in front of her like a shield. "Where are we going?"

"Wear it. Hurry up and get dressed if you want to find out," he delivered suavely, turning and shutting the door. Mumbling beneath her breath, Lisa towel dried and did as he ordered, not sure what to make of the enigma of a man that was Jackson. When she opened the door, her pumps were placed just outside the center of the doorframe with an unopened package of pantyhose on top. She lifted the objects, and of course they were her size.

"I'm not _even_ going to ask how you know what my size is, _Jack_," she called, assuming he was somewhere in the living room. As she backed into the bathroom, Jackson walked right past her, carrying a small, white plastic box and eating a sliver of an apple from the top blade of a very expensive-looking pocket knife.

"No need to," he smiled, taking in her appearance with a pleased look, "There's not too much about you I don't already know."

Lisa growled and shut the door in his face.

Several minutes later, she timidly peeked around the corner of the hallway to the living room. Jackson had his back to her and one leg hoisted up on the plain brown sofa, and he was changing a bandage on his left calf.

"How is y-"

Jackson whipped around at the sound of her voice, his eyes wide at her sudden presence. His gaze softened, and his mouth opened slightly as he took in the low-heeled pumps, eyes lingering on her shapely legs as they traveling upwards to the soft, black cocktail dress, the neckline of which modestly plunged to a nice V in front of her, the hemline cutting off at the knees. Still, though the dress had long sleeves and a very demure, classy approach, it clung to Lisa's pleasing body, showing off every plane and curve. Her hair, the color of the sunset, hung loose and free about her shoulders.

She felt herself falter beneath his intent, icy blue gaze, and she nervously patted down the dress over her thighs, though there was no need. A mixture of emotions washed over her; one of 

unfounded attraction amidst all the hell this man had put her through, and one of guilt, as this was the dress she was going to wear on her stood-up date with Brian just a few nights ago.

Lisa frowned slightly, thinking of Brian. He had probably written her off as a flake, at least she comforted herself with that idealism the past several days. They had just been warming up to each other, but she knew Brian had always sensed her reluctance to take it a step further. Even that night at her apartment door, when they had kissed for the first time, she knew Brian felt her tense up afterwards, . "H-how is your leg?" She asked Jackson in an overly-bright voice, lifting her eyebrows intelligently in doomed hope that he would stop ogling her body.

_Do I really want him to? Why am I even asking about his leg? He's going to think I care ... Do I? Oh, this whole thing is insane. Get a grip, Lisa._

Jackson let his eyes drink her in once more, and he neatly placed the extra field dressing and pads back into the first aid kit, clearing his throat. "Fine," he waved off. "My assistant will tend to it when he gets back in two days … you look wonderf-"

"Your _assistant_," she said rather crisply, not quite meeting his eyes under nervous scrutiny. "So, he actually _lives_ here? Kind of dismal without any pictures or people around, isn't it? What does he do while you're gone?"

Jackson shrugged, clasping up the small first aid kit and pulling down the hem of his black trousers. "Richard's a lone wolf. He prefers solace and he likes it here ... Once upon a time, he was a prominent neurosurgeon with Johns Hopkins. His wife and children were murdered about ten years ago in an explosion at an American embassy in Prague in the midst of an assassination attempt." He paused, noticing Lisa pale. "He couldn't function; lost his position, crawled inside himself … I caught the guy that did it in a completely random, unrelated assignment. He got in the way and was compromising the mission, and from the day that I killed him, Richard has been my best friend and confidante. He's a good dog. I trust him implicitly."

Quicker than she would have thought him capable, Jackson swept by her, grabbing her by the elbow and pulling her to the front door of the cabin with him with mild exertion. "Enough talk, it's time to go." Lisa glanced out the window at the rising sun.

"But it's only nine in the morning. Where are we going?" He held the door open for her, motioning with his eyes to the bright day outside. The blue of his eyes seemed more vivid than the blue of the sky.

"After you." She hesitated, and he placed a large hand on her lower back, giving her a gentle nudge. Quickly shying away from his hand, Lisa had all the incentive she needed to leave, and she waited on the small steps as Jackson made sure Tucker was inside, and locked the cabin door.

The morning air was bright and warm around them, the last vestige of summer fading away with the cooler autumn days, and she spied the hummingbirds on the second floor, drinking from their sap feed. Her gaze travelled back to Jackson, and it struck her how dangerous he looked; how capable with his black attire and menacing features. He lifted the keys to her father's station wagon, and she heard the locks free themselves inside.

"In the car," he ordered, not affording her even a glance or an explanation.

"No." The syllable played upon the air like an unwelcome wintry draft, and Jackson paused with the driver's side door open. He pursed his lips together, and walked towards her irately, scratching behind his ear. There was nothing friendly in his brooding face or tone.

"Lisa. Listen to me," he said testily. "I'm going to take you out of here for a few hours, then we're coming back. Simple as that. You need to trust me, and get in the damned car. We don't have a lot of time."

"Not until you tell me where we're going," she challenged, folding her arms.

"You'll find out," he returned smoothly. "Now get in, or I'll get you in myself." Carefully watching him and figuring she was not going to get any more out of him at the moment, Lisa rounded the car and slipped into the passenger seat.

Jackson drove with a purpose, maneuvering the car slickly over the gravel and then rough mountain terrain until they were at the gate of the premises, just feet away from the main road. He leaned out of his window to enter a code that was blocked from her view, and the giant titanium fence slid to the side, allowing them to pass. It closed automatically once they had exited, and he turned left, working his way up the mountain.

"This isn't the way we came, is it?" she asked guardedly, on edge as he took the close curves of the mountain turns at an alarming speed, far too close to the steep drop for her liking. He merely smiled when the wagon straightened out a little, and he coolly slid on the sunglasses that he had placed on the dashboard.

"Just hang on, baby, you ain't seen nothing yet."

"_Don't_ call me baby." In her heart, she didn't believe she was in physical danger. Whatever he was planning, it was strategized and for a purpose, and after the tingling kiss he'd left on her lips in the basement, she knew she was safe. For the moment.

About a mile and a half up the canyon, Jackson veered to the right up a dirt hill, which wound into another private property. Lisa's jaw fell open after he entered another code into the little box, and a moment later they were driving through some sparse woods into an open field, where of all things she never expected to see, a smart black helicopter grazed the low golden wheat tares, gleaming like a sedentary raven in the morning sun.

"Ever been in a helicopter, Leese?" Jackson smiled widely at her, and her nerves turned to jello as he turned off the ignition some thirty feet away from the copter. "Everyone out," he said gleefully without waiting for an answer. Before she could even protest, he was at her side of the car, opening her door with glittering eyes. "Come on, Leese. Your chariot awaits."

Lisa stared at him. "I'm not going up in that thing."

Jackson considered her only for a moment, inclining his head. "…Fine. I haven't got time to argue. Option A is out the window. Here's Option B." The steely flick of his knife resounded louder than it should have, and she stared at the long, sharpely-honed blade, mere inches from her face as Jackson leaned down to her. "Get out of the car, Lisa." All kindness faded from his voice, and it amazed her how quickly he could turn face, like a set of drama masks.

She was shaking. She hated that she was shaking. Normally priding herself on her uncanny stalwartness and resiliency, this seemed to be the only man on the face of the planet that drove fear into her, that set her off her guard. "No," she faltered.

Jackson's eyes went cold, and in a millisecond he had unbuckled her seatbelt, and was grabbing her hips to pull her out of the car.

"No!" she wriggled, but stopped when she felt the tip of his blade against her throat.

"Now, Lisa," Jackson chided as if to a small child, "I know you're fond of doing things the hard way, but at the moment it's my way or the highway. So do us a favor for the sake of time and efficiency, and get the _fuck_ out of the car." She did so simply because she had no choice, and Jackson put his arm around her throat from behind her with the knife still inches away, walking her in quick time to the helicopter, which sat patiently waiting. What scared her more than the knife was how calm he seemed; how systematic, as if this was just one of his many routines.

"Who's going to fly that thing?" she managed, trying both to keep up with his hasty feet and keep her nerves in check.

"I am," he breathed warmly into her ear. When she let out a gasp at the heat of his mouth, he chuckled, his lips grazing her earlobe like an engaging lover. "Oh, don't worry, Leese; I'm a _far_ better pilot than the one that flew us to Miami. That idiot couldn't tell his shoelace from his tarmac." He laughed again as they approached the bird.

The second he let up slightly on the knife when she stopped resisting him, Lisa used the opportunity to elbow him hard in the shoulder so the knife slipped to the ground out of his grasp. Jackson grunted from the wind that left him, and let out a fierce yell.

She had barely attempted to run, when snarling, he caught her around the waist and brought her kicking down to the ground on her back. Her dress slid up to her thighs, and Jackson threw all his weight on her, breathing hard. "Why is it I hear a rock song in my head every time you pull something like that?" he asked rather calmly after a moment. His pleasantness of tone, how cute he looked in his black attire, mingled with her helplessness drove her over the edge. He had no right to be so charming and malicious all at once!

"I hate you!" she screamed. "God, Jackson, I _hate_ you! I do, I do, I-" She squirmed beneath him, and he easily pinned her small wrists to the ground with his hands on either side of her.

"No you don't," he smiled, "You just like to _pretend_ you do, because it makes you feel validated as a person. So you don't have to be honest with yourself about what you _really_ want. Leese…" They stared at each other for a moment, her breathing heavily, him watching her breathe, glancing at her chest. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a dirty look as his gaze lingered on her breasts. He merely lifted an eyebrow and shook his head, amused by her embarrassment.

"Well, then. Now that your little temper tantrum has subsided," he went on, "Would you like to know where we're going? I need you to get in there in the next few minutes if we're going to make it."

Lisa's face relaxed a little. At least he was going to tell her. "Where?"

"The viewing," he replied earnestly. She lifted her head, and his grip softened slightly, though he did not let her up. Strands of wheat poked at her hair, and framed the autumn sky above Jackson like a golden canvas.

Her eyebrows knitted perplexedly. "But, I thought you said that it was scheduled for tonight."

"According to the itinerary online, yes," he nodded. "You're going to be the first visitor. There's only one person manning the reception desk at the moment, and he happens to work for me. But if you want to say goodbye to Dad, Leese," he said with a strained smile, "You _really_ need to stop fighting me. It's getting old, and fast."

Lisa released all restraint she was putting forth, and relaxed beneath him. "You're really going to take me to see my father," she searched his eyes. "Why?"

Jackson lifted himself above her, moving to the side and kneeling on the ground. He found his knife next to them, and sheathed it. "I'm merely fulfilling my end of the bargain so you'll fulfill yours. Now come on, we're wasting time." She started to sit up, but breath left her as she felt Jackson's arms scoop her beneath her knees and behind her back. She could do nothing but hold onto his neck as he stood and deposited her like a canvas bag inside the helicopter.

"You're riding shotgun, thank _you_," he murmured, sliding close the door on her side and rounding the copter. "Buckle up." The bird was definitely state of the art, smaller than she had originally thought, but clean and loaded with technical gear. She sat down and buckled up in the passenger's seat, watching curiously as Jackson swung himself up and into the cockpit with the well-seasoned ease of a practiced fly boy.

"Here," he handed her a black helmet with an open visor. "Put that on. There's a transmitter inside that will allow us both to hear and talk to each other for the next few hours. Just swing that little-" Lisa was a step ahead of him, moving the little speaking tube down toward her mouth. "There you go," he nodded, fixing his own helmet on and starting up the helicopter.

Lisa checked her seatbelt, tightening it as much as possible as the smart, little aircraft whirred and came to life, vibrating her seat. She checked for arm rests, but there were none, and she made do with fidgeting her hands in her lap.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Jackson delivered in a smooth, silky voice that came into her ear close as an intimate whisper. "Please make sure your tray tables are locked and in the upright position." Lisa stared at him, wondering for the umpteenth time about his sanity. He winked at her and continued on in the relaxing voice, checking all his equipment before take-off. "We regret that there will be no in-flight movie, nor any excursions to the lavatory aboard this flight, so we ask that you simply sit back, enjoy the flight, and _please_; try not to stab your pilot in the throat with any unsavory monster pens. Thank you."

The corners of Lisa's mouth twitched upwards, and she looked out her side window to cover up a developing smile with her fingers. At least he could joke about it. Upon further look over the last few days, she wondered if he covered up the tracheotomy scar with make-up; though there was no discoloration, she could make out the faintest outline of a circle, like a formation of freckles.

The liftoff happened before she had even felt it; true to his word, Jackson maneuvered the copter as deftly as an artist wielding a paintbrush. It lifted effortlessly off the ground, tail first, and she steadied herself in her seat as tall, green spruces came into view below them. She spotted Jackson's cabin only because she knew to look for it; it was partially canopied by the surrounding trees, but there it was – her prison for the last several days. Jackson began to increase speed, and Lisa's head whirled as the helicopter turned around.

She looked directly at him to avoid looking down anymore, and though he kept his eyes focused on the air, a smile played at the corners of his mouth.

"Still afraid of flying, Leese?" he asked smugly. "After all we've been through? Tsk tsk, I'm surprised."

Lisa smoothed down the cocktail dress over her knees, breathing carefully. She looked at the fresh bandage around her palm. "Well, if I am, it's not that surprising, is it? I mean, a person can only go through so many things and not retain a few phobias."

He glanced at her.

"And do you have a phobia of me?"

"Only of you landing this thing in one piece, right now I do, yes," she shut her eyes and drew breath as her head spun.

He chuckled. "Relax, Leese. What's the worst that can happen? We can crash, and I'll be out of your life forever. Aw." He tossed her a pouty face, then looked ahead, a mischevious glint in his eyes. "Actually, come to think of it…"

Lisa's senses were on full alert. "What?"

He was grinning like the Cheshire cat. "It's on the way. You'll see."


	7. The Waterfall

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in "Red Eye" or anything to do with the movie, but this particular storyline and plot are mine.**

**Author's Note: The next few chapters may follow each other a bit faster than usual as they're mostly written out and just need editing. Thank you to all who are subscribed and take the time out to read this FF. The reviews are a great incentive to keep going. Please enjoy!**

Lisa didn't have to wait very long to see what Jackson was grinning about; several minutes later they crested over a canyon rim, and below them on the other side was a large waterfall, both thick and thin at different sections, overflowing vertically like liquid glass. Large bushes of foam and spray from the powerful rivulets collected at the bottom, eventually streaming out to the river down along the mountain. She was so taken by the natural beauty below them that she momentarily abandoned her fears of flight.

Jackson looked knowingly at her, and concentrated on navigating the bird, slowly descending toward the raging, beautiful water.

Lisa struggled to take hold of anything as he came scarily close to the large mist and down current, and she found herself clutching the bottom sides of her seat, petrified. "W-what are you doing, Jackson?" she stammered. "Please, stop. It could suck us in and we'd-"

"Die?" He finished for her, getting so close to the sheet of the waterfall that she thought it would overtake them. Adrenaline surged through her at being so close to such a formidable wonder. She could smell the clean scent of the pine trees and the wet, fresh mist of the water.

"What is it you're afraid of, Leese?" Jackson asked calmly beside her, and she quailed with fear as he plummeted the bird further down the mighty cascade, pulling up just a yard or two before the foam collected and flying about twenty feet above the river, following it.

"You son of a bitch!" She shouted, putting her hand to her pounding heart. "Don't _ever_ do that again!"

Jackson just chuckled and shook his head. She was never going to get it, was she? He whirled the helicopter three hundred and sixty degrees, facing the waterfall and hovering there in mid-air, facing it. "Lisa, look at that," he nodded toward the waterfall.

"Yeah, I see it," she gasped, trying to calm her rapid pulse. "It's right there, I'm looking at it, you've made your point. Can we go now already?"

"No," he persisted. "Really _look_ at it. Sheer power, sheer grace. Nothing stops it, nothing stands in its way. You could _be_ that waterfall, Leese."

Lisa pinched the bridge of her nose, then harvested a laugh. "Oh my - You've_ got_ to be kidding me. We're in a helicopter piloted by a crazy person, you almost get us killed, and now you're acting like Dr. Phil?"

Jackson sighed, guiding the helicopter once more up the canyon until they were on their way again. "I'm just trying to show you that we aren't always meant to take the most obvious roads in life, Lisa. Take you for example. You get up every day, go to a well-paying job that makes you feel empowered and weak all at once, and you come home feeling empty and vacant, all alone. Think about what you could become, what you're capable of. I know you don't want to be hovelling and groveling to every upper crust customer that bells the Lux Atlantic. You're worth more than that."

She eyed him bemusedly. "I don't think I've ever known someone who could hurl out an insult and a compliment quite the way you do."

He smiled at her.

"But all the same, I could never fall into your line of work. I couldn't live with myself. I've no idea how you sleep at night."

"Don't be so sure," he chided, "You're just getting started, Leese."

Lisa pursed her lips, staring at him. _What right does he have to assume that-_

"You know I'm right," he glanced at her pointedly, that old cockiness in his voice. She said nothing, and the helicopter started picking up speed as he flew them towards their destination.

After ten minutes spend stewing in silence, Lisa could not let it go. She half turned to him, incensed. "How dare you think you know anything about how I feel, Jackson? You may have been watching me, but you don't know me inside."

Jackson gave her a sideways smirk. "Leese. I know you better than you know yourself. And deep down, you know I'm right. You desire action, crave it like a drug. I see it in your eyes every time we engage in it, every time you're challenged with anything from irate customers to … compromising circumstances."

_Compromising circumstances. I'm sure._ "So? That doesn't mean anything. Lots of people are in jobs they're good at, but don't necessarily love every moment of. Everyone always has something they'd rather be doing. It's called life. You can't tell me you haven't had _your_ moments in your 'valiant' line of work either, Jackson. I've seen them. I've seen you fail." She drove the words into him, and Jackson grew dangerously silent as they carried on towards their destination.

He would rather die than admit it, but she was right. And he had shown her that in the lavatory on the plane. Just that flicker in his eyes, that moment of weakness at finally being physically close to her, his defense shields lowered so he was no longer just captor to hostage, but a real, flesh and blood man with needs and desires. That brief interlude between them had given his weaknesses away. And that was something that had never happened before in all his twelve years of reconnaissance and sabotage.

"Who's Brian?" he asked into the silence, and she jumped at both his voice after almost half an hour, as well as the question.

"Brian?" she lifted an eyebrow innocently, tearing her gaze from the scattered houses intermingled with highway and trees below.

"Why is it I always get a question for a question with you, Leese?"

"I dunno, _Jack_. Don't blame me if you can't keep up the pace."

Jackson's jaw visibly tightened. She would pay for that. "I'll ask again. Who is he?"

"None of your damn business."

The helicopter suddenly tilted to the side, and Lisa held on for dear life as Jackson ruefully drove sideways, nearly spilling her against her window, but for the seatbelt tightly pulled across her lap.

"Jackson, s-stop it!"

Just as soon as the bird had turned on its side, he straightened it out again.

"Oh, we could do this all day, Leese," he chuckled.

"Screw you," she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut as her head struggled to get back to normal.

"That could be arranged. I know your favorite scent of candle, your favorite music. Just give me some time to put something together later on tonight, and I promise you won't be disappointed." Lisa shot hate from her eyes at him, but he seemed to be enjoying himself, completely at ease at the helm and amused by prodding her on. "Answer the question. I found his name and number on the dress cover. And don't lie to me, or I'll know. Who is he."

"Fine. He's the new guy I've been seeing, alright?"

The smile wiped away from Jackson's face, and he gripped the controls a little harder than necessary.

"What, you weren't keeping tabs on me? I find that a little hard to believe, considering how you barged into my apartment the other day."

"I was otherwise engaged," he said darkly, reliving the torture he had undergone for the last couple of weeks. "Who is he? How serious is your relationship?"

Lisa prudishly lifted her nose in the air. "No. No, I don't have to tell you anything about us."

"Yes you do, or I'll do a hell of a lot more than just tip us sideways," he threatened. When she saw that he was deadly serious about making good on his threat, she held up a hand.

"Fine. Fine, okay, just … fly, please. I don't feel like dying today. Brian's a stockbroker from New York, he's come down to work out of Miami. I met him when he checked into the Lux Atlantic last month. We've only been on a few dates."

Jackson's clutch on the controls did not let up, and she could sense his rage.

Inwardly, he was vehement that any man had laid a hand on her. Whether it made him truly messed up or not, he had considered her his for quite a while now, and he did not like other men messing with what belonged to him. "And I suppose you were going to wear that the night I came," he bit out sarcastically.

"Yes, he was taking me out." Lisa looked out the window, not liking where this was going.

"Hmm . . . well, consider it over, Leese. You're with me now, at least until you get into Witness Protection. Consider yourself owned."

"You're insane," she mumbled, shaking her head.

"Maybe, maybe not. But you're stuck with me. So deal with it."

Not a word was spoken between them for the rest of the flight, but she could feel his anger seething. Part of her was somewhat glad of it; good. Let him be jealous. Let him want what he couldn't have. He had caused enough trouble and misery in her life that he deserved to be hurt.

She recognized Miami as they neared it, and started to grow antsy in her seat at the thought of being able to get away from Jackson. "Does air traffic control know you're here?" she asked doubtfully, as Jackson descended the copter lower and lower towards the city.

"I have someone positioned there," he replied in a low voice. She braced herself as he approached a skyscraper downtown, landing with ease on the flat roof. A tall man in a black cap and black suit jacket stood against the roof door, shielding the wind with his arm as they landed. The top propeller of the helicopter slowly wound down as Jackson motioned to Lisa to remove her helmet and unbuckle her seatbelt. He led her by the crook of the arm, stepping down from the bird and ducking her head along with his from the spinning of the propeller. Her hair blew in her face, and she felt as if the wind might lift her off the ground at any moment much as Jackson had lifted the helicopter during take off. The feeling was akin to stepping off of a treadmill after being on it for too long.

"Daatson," Jackson yelled above the noise, shaking the man's hand. Lisa looked up at the man, who had a short, cropped military haircut and a gaunt face. Daatson removed his driver's cap and jacket, handing them to Jackson, who put them on over his black turtleneck.

"You'll have to hurry," the man shouted. "You have thirty minutes to get over there, do your thing, and get out. Bosko's behind the desk, everything's set." He handed Jackson a small white card. "This is where the hearse is parked. P2. Elevators are right through the door. I'll be here waiting."

Jackson nodded firmly, patting him on the shoulder as he ushered Lisa past. "Good man. We'll be back. You know what to do if we aren't." Daatson affirmed that he did, and stood like a watchdog by the door, watching the copter.

Straight through the doors were a set of two elevators on each side of painted white walls. Jackson pushed the call button, and Lisa studied the effect of him with the cap and jacket on while he intensely watched the floor indicators above the doors. He was certainly congenial and able to fit in anywhere; the black, shiny cap pulled over his longish hair gave him a strangely Irish look for a moment. His mouth open, he looked down at her from the corner of his eye. She hated her thoughts for betraying her, but she could not help thinking he was an ethereally handsome man. The perfect guise for his line of work.

"What."

"Nothing," she replied as the elevator came up empty. She walked into it, watched as he pushed P2, and rubbed the goose bumps on her arms, suddenly unsure of if he was really taking her to see her father. As the doors opened to their parking level, Jackson firmly took her hand, his palm surprisingly warm.

"Come on, we don't have much time." He walked with her hand in his, glancing down at the card and looking around for the bay the car was in. To an observer, they looked like a young couple, dressed for an occasion. But his hand clamped to hers hard and unyielding. She got the message. _Run, and there will be hell to pay_.


	8. A Nap in the Dark

A/N: I found this chapter a little harrowing and hard to write given the sensitive subject nature. . . but it was necessary. If any of my readers have experiences similar to what Lisa has in the funeral home, I apologize if it upsets or distresses you; that is not the intention. But this came to me, and I had to write it. Thanks so much for the reviews; I really am touched you are all enjoying this story.

"Uh, uh. No _way._"

Lisa stared at the open, satin-lined coffin Jackson indicated with an inviting flourish after opening the back end of the long, black hearse. She realized her palm was still in his, and she snatched it away as if it burned. "Jackson, I know you're a few sandwiches short of a picnic in some areas, but you're _insane_ if you think I'm getting in there."

Jackson's eyes clouded over darkly as he looked down on her small frame, and he pursed his lips together, drawing out a folded, thick cream-colored paper from the jacket pocket Daatson had given him, handing the creased folds to her. He glanced around, making sure they were still alone in the full parking lot.

With trembling hands, Lisa opened the paper, and held her breath. Her father's face as a younger man beamed back up at her in vivid color, carefully designed; the program for his viewing and funeral.

"You want to go?" he asked pointedly over her shoulder. "Then get in there." Her eyes followed his to the empty, open coffin. "You could be spotted, and this is the only way to get you in and out of the funeral home undetected."

"I – I have problems wi-"

"With closed-in spaces, yes, I know," he finished hastily, focused on getting in the hearse. "How about if I leave it cracked? We can talk the entire time, and it's only a seven minute ride to the home, okay? You'll be able to say goodbye, Leese, but you have to get in. Now."

She knew she was visibly trembling, but she couldn't help herself. He took her hand and helped her crawl carefully into the back, holding her dress down.

Lisa gulped as she eyed the rose-colored satin, overstuffed lining in the coffin. Her knees felt like jello. "I-I can't do this, Jackson." The concept of lying in a coffin, driven by a man who had attempted to murder her, was too ironic for her liking. What if this was some morbid attempt at revenge? Jackson crawled in after her and helped her lay in the coffin.

Panic rose in her chest as he looked down at her, the small light from the hearse catching the lower parts of his icy eyes. _What the hell did I just get myself into_? She gulped helplessly up at him, wishing she could somehow read his solemn expression.

What he was thinking was how radiant her hair looked, fanned out on the satin lining. The hem of her dress pushed slightly up her legs above the knee, and his stomach tightened at the sight of her shapely legs, gently laying against the smooth fabric. She was exquisite like fine wine.

Jackson shook his head, breaking out of his reverie, and took out his sunglasses from his inner jacket pocket. "I'm going to wedge this between the lid so you can breathe and talk to me, okay?" he said carefully, his eyes bearing into her. _Trust me, Leese_.

Lisa drew a shaky breath, and nodded, shocked she was doing this, putting her life in this man's hands when she knew it was the last thing she should be doing.

Jackson began to shut the lid, but paused. Leaning out of sight, he returned with a single, long-stemmed red rose from the floral arrangement lining the outside of the coffin. He put it in her 

hands, which she helplessly folded across her stomach, completing the classic look of sleeping grace.

"Just to make it look convincing," he added with a wink, relishing every moment.

"Screw you!"

He chuckled, wedging the sunglasses between one of the latches where the casket secured. "I told you. _Later_, Leese," he flirted roguishly. "Business first. Can you breathe okay?"

Her view went dark, the only sight being the thin line of pale light from the hearse, but it was sparse and closed in. She closed her eyes, trying to breathe carefully.

"Yeah…"

"You sure?" he sounded hesitant, concerned. She recalled the same tone when she had bumped her head on the overhead bins on the plane to Miami, when he had been playing the role of chivalrous gentleman.

Lisa gritted her teeth, her eyes tightly shut. _I'm just taking a nap in the dark, I'm in a soft, satin-sheet bed, taking a nap in the dark with an eye mask on._

"Lisa?"

"Yes," she creaked, hating the meekness in her voice. "I'm fine. Just drive. Get us there."

She heard the rustling of fabric, felt his weight lift off the back of the hearse. "Just keep listening to my voice, okay?" He called before shutting the door.

"Okay," she managed, chanting the nap mantra in her head.

She heard the driver's side door open, and heard the engine purr to life. Jackson asked if she was okay again, and she hollered back that she was.

"It's only a quick ride to the funeral home, Leese." She felt the strange inertia of the long funeral car backing up and turning around as he maneuvered it out of the parking lot. "Once we get there, you can see your father, but there's not going to be much time. I'm going to need you to leave with me when I say it's time, no questions asked."

"I understand, just get us there," she said through clenched teeth.

His silence was her answer, and she felt the car speed up slightly on the road as they took close turns and fast lanes. She had the feeling he was using alleyways to get there. He was going a little faster than necessary, and she felt dizzy when he took a hard right. "Hey!" She yelled, thumping on the lid of the coffin. "Easy on that turn!"

"Oh, pardon if my driving's not to your standard, love," he drawled in a cockney London accent. "We're a bit short staffed at the moment, so you'll have to bear with us if the service seems a bit wonky."

"I'm really glad you're finding this so amusing, Jackson," she called. "Because I know something else that's gonna be a bit wonky if you don't lay off the Knight Rider crap."

He chuckled, and a few minutes later the hearse began to slow down. "Okay, Lisa," he said in a more serious voice. "We're here. I'm pulling into the garage now, just do whatever I tell you and you can have time to say goodbye to your dad."

A vague hope lightened her heart, and she held onto the rose in her hand as if sealing that hope. She felt the hearse move into the garage and heard the electric door closing behind them. He keyed the ignition off, and in a flash she heard the back door open. She thudded on the lid again.

"Get me out of here!"

"Shh," he lifted the lid, putting a finger to his lips. "Come on." Jackson helped her get out of the coffin and crawl out the back end, and when she stood up in the garage, she was alarmed to find a nice-looking, blonde-haired man in a black suit and tie about Jackson's height standing 

just a foot away. "It's okay, he works for me," Jackson said close to her ear. Lisa stepped slightly away from them both, partly from the uncomfortable feeling of Jackson's hand on her back, and the solemn expression on the man's face. "Are we all set?" Jackson asked.

"Yes sir, you've got about ten minutes. They're not due back here until one o'clock. Here," the man palmed Jackson a hand-held radio. "I'll stay here and keep an eye out in case there's trouble."

"Good. Ivers is still at the reception desk?" Jackson asked, turning up the little knob on the radio's volume slightly.

"He is. Go do your thing. Mr. Reisert is in the room through the door and to the right. You're good to go."

"Outstanding," Jackson nodded firmly. "Come on, Lisa." She was already walking with a mild trepidation towards the inner door that led to the funeral home.

It was weird to hear Jackson be called "sir" in a more formal sense. She recalled Cynthia calling her "ma'am" about ninety times her first day on the job, until she could take it no longer and just told her to call her by her name. In Jackson's profession, though, he apparently was either older than she thought or extremely good to have gotten where he had so quickly in his life. His colleagues obviously respected him, regardless of the Keefe job.

As Jackson he held the door open for her, she shuddered, casting a glance back to his dog, who was now leaning against the hearse and disjointedly smoking a cigarette with his own hand-held on top of the car. She walked through the door, now focused on nothing but her father.

The viewing room was brightly lit and tastefully decorated, beautiful funeral arrangements on easels all around the room, set up for the evening ahead. Her father was in a rich mahogany casket, the top opened to reveal the cream-colored lining inside. Jackson shut the door behind them, leaning against it, and motioned for her to approach the coffin while he hung back.

Lisa walked carefully towards it, beginning to see the outline of her father's nose, forehead, chin and lips. She was unaware that she still held the rose in her hands, and that she had started crying silently.

There he was, in a nice dark suit, goatee and all. They had done a good job with him; the color was still in his face, and it looked like he was simply sleeping. "Hi dad," she whispered, instinctively glancing at her hands. She took the rose and put it beneath one of his palms on his chest; cold to the touch. But it felt right that he had something she had touched, even in death. Unrelated thoughts rushed through her head as she looked at the arrangements and the nicety of the coffin; someone had arranged all this, paid for it, taken care of it.

"Is – is my mother here?" she asked the room at large.

"She flew in a few days ago," Jackson replied from his station against the door.

"Did she have to pay for all this?" Lisa knew that as far as she was aware, her mother didn't have a great deal of money beyond what she had inherited, and that her father had not pre-bought his funeral arrangements.

"No… I um, took care of this for you." Lisa looked over her shoulder at him, and he shrugged, avoiding her eyes. "It's the least I could do after bringing all this into your life. Say what you need to say, Lisa."

Lisa looked at her father, seemingly in a gently slumber. How to summarize or even touch on what he'd meant to her? He had been her rock, her touchstone through all of her life. "I love you, Dad," she said simply, gently touching his hair. "I'm sorry things ended the way they did. Not a lot of girls are lucky enough to have the kind of father that you were to me, and I'll be forever grateful for every moment with you. I'm sorry…" As memories came flooding back, 

her eyes burned with welled up tears as she smiled and remembered all the moments, silly and educational and happy and sad, and words seemed misplaced and she tried to say goodbye. "I … I need something to write with," she said over her shoulder. Jackson approached, scooping a complimentary pen and pad up from the desk by the door. He stood next to her, looking down on Joe with a struggling face, and Lisa untopped the pen, at a loss at what to write. Whenever words failed her she often wrote in her journal or wrote anything that came to mind. _Maybe I'll write him a letter and put it in his pocket_.

She looked at his kind face, peaceful upon the pillow, and began to write, _Dear Dad_, when a tingle shot down her spine, and she felt herself shiver all over. Her pen was still to the paper, but instinctively she closed her eyes, feeling his presence. _Are you trying to tell me something? _She thought, her body shaking.

"Lisa?" Jackson asked beside her. "Are you alright?"

Lisa shook her head violently, feeling her hand move to the paper. She was afraid to open her eyes; her body still shook with liquid cold, and she had the strange sense of being spiritually invaded. "Oh my God," he breathed beside her. "Lisa, look what you're writing."

Her eyes flew open, and she looked down at the sheet of paper, which had circles scribbled, but in very clear handwriting, unquestionably her _father's_ handwriting, small and cramped, she had written _leeserungoleeserungoleeserung-_

Lisa dropped the pen and paper and staggered back a few feet, eyes wide open and her mouth dropped. Warmth crept into her body again, but she was in shock, looking from her father's casket to Jackson and back. The static interference of Jackson's radio came to life in his hand.

"Jackson, you have to get out of there, they've come back early," his man on guard urged.

"We're coming," Jackson replied, still looking as shocked as Lisa was. "Come on, we have to leave. Now." He took her by the crook of the arm, not harshly, and walked her to the door. He paused and looked behind him at the coffin.

"What are you doing?" Lisa asked, terrified at what had just happened.

Jackson gulped and looked around the room, as if expecting Joe's ghost to materialize before them.

"I'll take care of her," he said lowly. "I promise." Without another word, he shuffled Lisa out of

the room.


	9. Interim

**Disclaimer: Don't own it, but I love it.**

**A/N: Thanks once again for the reviews. If it's seemed long and drawn out, I felt it was important to establish WHY Lisa and Jackson fall for each other – it seems like certain fan fiction sometimes has a habit of jumping the gun with the "they thought each other was hot and that was it, bam they did it" sort of plot. Given the way these two parted in the movie, I really think that it would have to be extraordinary circumstances to get them together and on each other's sides, because the mutual attraction's there, but after what they both went through and did to each other, they would need time to transition and fuse. Never fear, the Mills and Boone stuff is on its way ("The Analytic Assassin and Reclusive Hotel Manager") lol, but first, a little more action. . .**

Getting back to the parking garage was a whirlwind; Jackson flung orders left and right as they got back to the hearse, and he gave his man the jacket and cap, climbing into the back of the funeral car with Lisa.

"Just take us to the ZCMI building on parking level 2, in front of the F Bay elevators."

"You got it," his man said, starting the car.

"Looks like we're going to have to share," Jackson grunted, pushing her in.

"No!" she protested, pushing against his wrists as he tried to cajole her into the coffin.

"Get us out of here, Chris," Jackson ordered, and sitting up in the back of the hearse, he began to wrestle with Lisa as the garage door went up and Chris backed the hearse out. "Get, ugh, _in_, Leese."

Her wrapped palm stung as she battled with the strength of his hands on her wrists, but she glared defiantly at him. "I'm not lying in that thing with you. I'd rather-" a flash caught her eye, and she started as she saw a familiar handsome, tall dark-haired man with styled hair and sharp, dark eyes standing in the sun, a gun drawn as he ran towards the hearse with a determined look on his face.

"_Brian?"_ A shot hit the back window of the hearse, shattering it. Jackson covered Lisa with his body.

"Get _in_, damnit," he seethed in her ear. She did as she was bid, quickly lying down on her back in the coffin as Jackson got on top of her and closed the lid as much as it would go. "Chris, get us out of here, _now_!" His response was the peeled sound of the tires as the hearse pulled sharply forward. "Shit," Jackson mumbled into her neck. She could smell the clean scent of his aftershave. He moved his hands to the sides of her waist to get more comfortable.

"That was Brian," she breathed, trying to ignore the fact that Jackson's face was mere inches from hers. "What the hell is he doing here?"

"Well," Jackson muttered into her hair, "Given the fact that he was toting a .40 glock, I'm assuming he's either a fed or he works for Keefe. Probably both. I bet Keefe hired him to trail you, the sneaky bastard."

The kiss she'd shared with Brian played in her mind like a movie, and she recalled how tender it had been at first, then with more insistence, him making his desire more than known. She shivered, remembering his large hand, tangled in her auburn tresses and his breath, deep with want. _I'm so glad we didn't go further_.

"What?" Jackson asked, his nose touching hers in the dark.

"N-nothing." _Did I say that outloud_?

Jackson relaxed against her, resting his chin over her shoulder. "Am I too heavy for you?" he asked after a moment.

"No," she cleared her throat. "No, you're fine. . ."

He chuckled.

"What?"

"Oh come on," she could hear the cocky sneer in his voice, and in the dark, it was even worse. "You have to admit, Leese, you and me. This is classic."

"Just shut up, Jackson."

She heard him inhale through his nose and sigh, and he readjusted above her, laying his head just above her breasts. Her mouth opened to make a snide remark that he better get off of her, but she realized how cramped they were, and she allowed it, pretending not to notice that one of his hands was softly stroking the crook of her elbow, sending frissons of sweet electricity through her.

"How's your hand?" The gentleness in his voice threw her off as the hearse tore through alleyways, rocking them both in the coffin.

"It's… better."

Jackson nuzzled against her, knowing that this was the only time he'd be able to get away with it in such close proximity. "Good."

He let silence fall between them; still, being here with her, feeling her soft flesh beneath his, sent his blood racing. How he wanted her. Perhaps there would still be time to convince her, to show her he wasn't the monster she thought he was. But for the moment, they had work to do, and he needed the password to that thumb drive to ensure both their safety.

Jackson and Lisa breathed carefully as the hearse pulled up to the parking garage.

"Wait," Chris called. "There are some people coming out. I'll let you know when it's clear." Lisa put her hands to Jackson's elbows, cramped for room. She could feel him looking at her in the dark. She felt his fingertips press to her jawline, soft and careful, and for a bizarre moment she thought he was going to kiss her. "They're gone, go now."

Jackson's head came up, and he was suddenly back in action, pushing the lid open and helping Lisa out. Chris opened the back door, and Jackson nodded his thanks as he helped Lisa out of the car, running to the elevators. The hearse was soon out of sight, and they were soaring to the roof in the elevator after Jackson produced a key to get them there.

Daatson was waiting near the still, black helicopter with a gun at the ready, watching as they approached. He shook Jackson's hand.

"That was quicker than I thought."

"Yeah, we had trouble."

"Ivers told me," Daatson replied, holding up his own radio. He turned and walked with Jackson and Lisa to the copter. "Richard called just as you were going down."

Jackson frowned. "Richard. He should be in Acapulco."

"He said to tell you he's on his way back, that he got the info he was after so he should see you tomorrow morning."

Jackson tilted his head in blithe consideration. "Fair enough. You won't be completely stuck with just me anymore," he said to Lisa, helping her into the bird.

"There are a few jugs with unleaded gas for the car in the back of the chopper. You're cleared with air traffic control," Daatson went on quickly. "If you have any problems, just let me know, my guys and I are around and you know the frequency."

Jackson shook his hand again and swung up into the helicopter. "You're a lifesaver, Daatson."

The tall, gaunt man simply waved, offering a smile to Lisa, which she guardedly returned as he backed away to the door, watching the propeller start up and keeping his gun at the ready as they lifted off from the roof.

Once they cleared Miami, Jackson slowed the copter down a bit and looked at Lisa. "Below your seat, there's a backpack with some drinks and beef jerky in it." Lisa felt below and pulled out the black mesh backpack, discovering a few bottles of Gatorade and water, and a few packets of beef jerky. "Hand me a drink, please?"

She leaned over, giving him some water and opening a package of beef jerky. She handed him a crinkled slice. "Thanks," he stuffed it into his mouth.

"So, let's talk," she frowned at him after taking a sip of water herself. "I've got questions about Keefe and what you told me, especially since I'm supposed to help you get whatever was on my dad's jump drive."

Jackson took a moment to chew and swallow the jerky. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about what happened in that room just now?" he eyed her knowingly. "You should've had a mirror up to yourself when you started writing, Leese. It was the creepiest thing I've ever seen."

Lisa grew quiet, chewing on a beef jerky stick. "Well, I suppose that my dad still has a way to look out for me even in death."

"I meant what I said, you know." He looked pointedly at her. "About taking care of you. I'm going to make sure we get this over, once and for all, and you can move on with your life."

"I believe you." She said quietly.

"You do?" Hope shone in his pale blue eyes. _About time, Lisa_.

Lisa nodded, eating and drinking for a few minutes. It wasn't that she fully vested all of her faith in Jackson now that he had taken her to see her father; just quite simply, at the funeral home she'd gotten the feeling that her father _wanted_ her to trust Jackson, and it seemed like at the moment he was the only one not shooting at her or trying to kill her, which was a refreshing change, even if he had been the one to abduct her.

"So. Keefe," she approached.

"Mr. Golden Boy himself. Shoot."

"So, he _did _stage his own assassination attempt."

"Yes, he did."

"And everything you said happened, happened."

"Everything."

"So, what specifically are you looking for on that drive? I doubt photos and accounting records are the only things on there, Jackson, if I know my dad like I do. He'd have something more concrete. He didn't spend twenty years in special ops comms for nothing."

Jackson's focus shifted as he clutched the controls, and he grinned, amused. "Why do you have to be so damned intelligent, Lisa?" She couldn't tell if he was doling out a compliment or an agitated remark; she took it as a compliment. "There are supposedly blueprints in e-form for a building he wants to target that were intercepted by your father. We don't know if there's validity to this, but there's substantial reason to believe that there is. The real copies were destroyed, but from what we know plans are in motion to assassinate an ambassador, an elected official from Pakistan that is working on sealing the relationship between the U.N, America, and Pakistan. Our assumption without looking at the plans is that Keefe is planning to be at the explosion himself as an innocent delegate, and single-handedly save the man, just in time for the Presidential election so he looks like America's golden child."

Lisa lifted her eyebrow. "Are you . . . if you're serious, that's absolutely _insane_."

Jackson looked darkly at her. "And that's _exactly_ the kind of man we don't want in power, Lisa. The kind that bends the will of the people and plays them like a puppet. Who has the power to send millions of innocent young men and women to their deaths for a manufactured war. Sound familiar? Hand me another piece of beef, please. We have work to do."

As the black bird crossed the sky nearer and nearer to the cabin, Lisa had the growing sensation that she had an even bigger part to play in this before all was said and done, more than Jackson was letting on. Still, as the afternoon sun shone through the chopper, she felt a sense of comfort knowing Jackson was there to help get them through this.


	10. What I Was Aiming For

**Disclaimer: I don't own these enigmatic characters or their histories, but if I did I'd do a sequel. Soon!! ;) Plot and storyline are mine.**

**Rating: This chapter contains strong language and strong sexual innuendo/content which may be unsuitable for younger readers. Y'have been warned! **

**A/N: A million thanks for the kind reviews. Admittedly, I had a lot of fun writing that bit with them in the coffin, as morbid as that sounds. Hee hee. I realize I've posted about 16,000 words in like a day today; I just had these pre-written, but needed to flesh them out before posting, and good old weekends provide the time to do that, so playing a little bit of catch up here. Future chapters should come at about weekly intervals until the story's completed. About this chapter: Uh (insert embarrassing ear scratch here), this chapter is, erm, the beginning of the Mills 'n Boone schtuff as I lovingly call it. LOL I won't talk it to death. Just read it please, and enjoy. :D Thank you again for subscribing and reading. It's nice to know people enjoy this, and I enjoy the honest reviews. More to come.**

As the red station wagon crunched over the gravel and slowed to a stop a few feet from the cabin, Lisa heard the faint bark of Cooper from inside. Jackson emerged from the driver's side, rattling the keys in his hands as he walked around the car. She didn't realize she was staring until he froze in mid step, watching her study him. He looked so beautiful standing there in the sun, confident and unearthly striking with his sunglasses, strong, high cheekbones and full lips.

"Everything alright?" She did not miss the hint of sarcasm in his voice. Lisa shook herself and lifted her nose.

"Fine," she smiled assertively. "Or, rather it _will_ be when I get out of these shoes and get to work on the password."

He nodded and hopped up the steps, letting Cooper come running out to first bark greetings at him, then put his paws up on Lisa, smiling a doggy smile.

"Hi, Coop." She ruffled the canine's champagne-colored fur, laughing as he trotted off to a nearby bush to do his business.

"You're lucky, he's usually not that friendly with people he doesn't know," Jackson observed as she followed him inside.

"Well, maybe he just has a good taste in girls," she stepped out of her pumps in the hallway.

"I won't dispute that fact," he replied, disarming himself and placing the weapons on a nearby hallway table. Lisa had never been a stranger to weapons; her dad had always gone shooting regularly, but it still disconcerted her that this was a normal daily routine for Jackson.

"First dibs on the bathroom," she nodded, turning to go follow Cooper's lead.

Jackson continued taking off his gear. He was in the kitchen when she finished, making tuna fish sandwiches for them both. "Smells good," she said from the doorway.

"Should be. Want to finish up? I need to go." She took over at the counter, adding fresh lettuce to the sandwiches and potato chips as he used the bathroom. They ate in comfortable silence at the table, and she was surprised at herself for once acquiescing and being honestly open with him. It was a refreshing change from having to constantly be on her guard. While she would never forget the past and what he was capable of, she was finding that it appeared increasingly possible to overcome it. With her father's dead especially, she wanted to.

Jackson took her empty plate and rinsed it out in the sink, then asked her to join him in the office.

He sat down to the main desktop in a plush leather chair, and though he offered her one Lisa preferred to stand behind him as he put the coveted silver thumb drive in, working through a sequence of information she'd never seen on any removable device before.

"I can't believe he actually put all these measures in there," she said, watching in disbelief as Jackson entered answers to personal questions her father had programmed before having to get to the actual password.

"Joe was a smart guy," he muttered, his fingers flying over the keys. "Yadda yadda yadda yadda – there!" he swiveled around in the chair and looked up at her in defeat as the window requesting the main password came up. "It's protected, but he's also got each individual file password protected as well, which means we have eight codes to break. I've tried birth dates, social security numbers, middle names, team names of you and all your family members, even his and Pam's anniversary date before the divorce, but I can't get in. You know your dad better than anyone else, Leese. Want to take a stab?"

"You bet I do," Lisa muttered, sliding a slim, black pilot pen from the edge of the desk and fingering it lovingly as she looked at him with glittering eyes. Jackson pursed his lips. His expression was one mingled with slight alarm mixed with partial amusement, and in a second he grabbed the pen from her petite but lethal hands, dipping his head towards her with a menacing look.

"Give me that, you mental woman."

"What?" she looked as innocent as a lamb beneath her smile. "Can't take a joke, _Jack_?"

He let out a sigh, but she sensed his underlying wit. "You know, Leese, I think your sense of humor might just be sicker than mine."

Lisa pulled up the chair beside him and grinned. "Move over before you hurt yourself, genius."

"Ho ho," he chortled. "Them's fightin' words."

Lisa ignored his taunting and frowned, reading the simple window requesting the password. "Wait; do you guys not have someone that specializes in breaking down codes and getting this kind of information from these types of things?"

"You're looking at him," Jackson said sourly, glancing at her then glowering at the computer. "One of my many specialties. I've done my magic, but your dad was relentless. See what you can do. There's no three-times-and-you-get-it-wrong; you can try as many as you need to to get in."

"Do you have any idea if it's alpha or numeric?" She asked, thinking of something her dad might have come up with that could possibly have been a combination of both.

"The only thing I can tell is that it has eight digits. I've spent the last few nights working it out, but I just can't get in." She noticed the circles beneath his eyes, but then again he was a man who probably saw sleep deprivation as a natural part of his existence.

"Okay. Let's see…" Lisa put her slender fingers to the keyboard.

Ten hours later, Cooper, who had wandered in, lifted his head up from his paws, yawned tiredly at the crazy humans, and chose the other side of his paws as a means to get more comfortable in the corner.

Lisa still had not changed out of the dress, and her hair was slightly messy. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. "Look, I'm doing the best I can," she threw agitatedly at Jackson, who had scooted his chair away from her and was now leaning back, staring up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head.

"We've been over this," he drawled clinically. "It didn't have anything to _do_ with the Keefe incident. I _told_ you. I've entered every code and date, even the flight number and the time Keefe arrived at the hotel."

"Well, was there any special code you guys had for the operation? Like, I dunno, Killin' Keefe or Code Red or whatever it is you guys come up with?" she asked through her teeth.

Jackson sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. "Only one, but I've tried it and tried mixing it with relative dates, backwards and forwards. You didn't hear it, but at the airport over the PA system, when we were at the Tex Mex, an announcement came on saying 'heightened security measures are now in place." That was our cue from Keefe that everything was going according to plan, or at least that's what he wanted us to think before he blew everything to hell and I took charge of things."

Lisa ran her hands through her hair and closed her eyes. "I can't think anymore. I need something to eat."

Jackson checked his silver Omega Ocean Master watch, which she was pretty sure hadn't been bought off a street peddler in New York. "You're right. It's coming up to eleven. It's been a long day … maybe we should just call it a night and start fresh in the morning. We still have time. Richard will be here tomorrow, and he might have an idea that we don't. At least, he better do, or we're SOL because the Agency needs this information in three days." She turned in her chair, watching Jackson stare into oblivion, lost in thought and concern.

He was having what she privately referred to as a Male Moment.

Finally, he turned his head to her. "Want some nachos?"

Thirty minutes later, Jackson served up a full, large plate of hot nachos with caramelized onions, salsa, and drizzled with piping hot, mouth-watering cheese.

Lisa had dug in heartily at first, but after a while she found herself watching him.

"What is it, Leese?" he asked irritably. Lisa looked at him across the kitchen table and surreptitiously scooped a nacho into a pool of melted, smooth cheese at the edge of the large plate with a pout.

"Nothing."

He leaned towards her, determined to coax it out of her. "No, it's not _nothing_. You've been staring at me frequently for the last five minutes. Either you've developed some degenerative eye disease and can't stop staring at me thanks to a de-lubrication of your pupils, or you've got something on your mind. Share the brilliance, Sherlock." He kept his tone light enough, but inwardly he was frowning. Was it her father? Did she still hate him for taking her away? Blame him for Dad's death, for bringing her here?

"It's your eyes," she said at last, and he inwardly started. _Well, I wasn't expecting that. _She seemed uncomfortable. "They freak me out sometimes."

Caught by surprise, Jackson darted his eyes around, then looked straight at her, intrigued. "Can't say I haven't heard that one before. But I thought your resilience was impenetrable. Really, they do?"

"Yeah … they look dangerous at times."

His mouth curved upwards into a lopsided grin. _Score_. "You _do_ know that being told by a beautiful woman that you have dangerous eyes is pretty much the biggest turn on any guy can have, right?"

Lisa rolled her eyes and sat back, but she knew she was blushing from the compliment as she took a sip of her drink and looked to the side. "Look, forget it. That's not what I was aiming for at all. Just forget it."

"Too late, it's out there," Jackson sat back as well, pleased with himself and basking in the glow of her embarrassment. He loved it when he stirred the pot and riled her up. It was fun, not to mention cute.

She muttered a retort into her glass, mildly shaking her head.

"Did you know that you get a little crinkle above your left eyebrow when you're embarrassed? It's nice, quite attractive."

She blushed even harder, and he could not help grinning broadly as she stood up. "Ah, come on, Leese. Lighten up. I'm just having a little fun."

Captivated, he followed her to rinse her dish out, though he hadn't finished his. Her embarrassment was like dessert to him, sweet and sumptuous.

She noticed his nearness and began to fidget and get clumsy with him right behind her. He laid bets that she was recalling the kiss in the basement earlier. He hadn't stopped thinking about it; it had kept him charged up all day. He wanted more of her, and soon. The way her hair hung down like that, the way the clingy dress showed off her athletic curves, the very essence of her was driving him mad.

"Lisa, how long has it been since a man touched you?" He asked softly, almost as a whisper, into her hair.

He felt her tense up, and he let out a harsh sigh. So this was how it was going to be. "You're in denial," he stated more to himself than to her.

She turned to him, her eyes wide with rage. "I most certainly am _not_. I'm a _very_ open person, thank you very much."

He snorted. "Leese, you're about as open as a book with chains. But it's fine anyway, because I get you, you know? I always have. You're taken with me, but you don't know how to react to your emotions after what you've been through and all we've been through together. It's perfectly understandable." He nodded smugly as her face went crimson, and he stepped closer.

"You arrogant, conceited bastard! No, I'm not!"

"Yes you are," he said with a maddeningly patient, smooth air. "Because whether or not you want to admit it, we're one and the same," his eyes twinkled with mirth. "We're exactly alike, and it's got you scared to death." Bingo.

Lisa stepped closer to him, articulating every word. "Jackson, read my lips. We are _nothing_ alike." He certainly _was_ reading her fleshy, ruby-colored lips; studying them with an intensity that sent blood flowing into her cheeks, staining her pale flesh in this dark hour of the night. Why did he have the power to make her feel completely weakened when she was already so strong?

Perhaps it was her blushing that emboldened him; he stepped even closer, closing the gap between them as they stood mere inches apart, to the point where she could feel his shirt rub against hers.

"Don't be so sure, Leese." His raspy, masculine voice coursed through her, sending shivers all over her body. It was a sexy voice, a bedroom voice, deep and wanting. He was way too close now.

Still, she wasn't about to let him win. He was testing her, she could feel it. Lisa stood her ground and looked defiantly up into his eyes. "I could _never_ do what you do for a living. It's despicable."

Jackson arched an eyebrow, amused. "Oh, but you can bow and snivel and scrape to every temperamental retirement couple that checks into the Lux Atlantic for the rest of your life, and not feel embarrassed about what it is you do – or regret not making more of yourself, when inside you're an intelligent, capable woman? It all comes back to this, Leese," he lowered his voice, bearing his killer blue eyes into her deep emerald caverns. "You have a lot more potential and clout. You know it, and I know it. So _stop_ _pretending to live_, Lisa."

Was he getting closer, or was she? She felt his breath, warm on her own, his parted lips just millimeters away.

_No, this isn't going to happen_.

When Lisa tried to turn away, he grabbed her by the upper arms and whirled her around, slamming her back against the side of the fridge, but unlike the bathroom on the plane, this time he supported the back of her neck and head completely with his hand, and the exhilaration as his body spun and pressed against her own was enough to make her come undone.

Masking her desire with her temper, she snarled, "You disgust me."

"No I don't," he pouted as he pinned her hands above her head with one of his own. "I know why you like to tell yourself that, Leese, because it helps you sleep at night when you wake up in the cold, cold dark, craving the one thing that is out of your reach; craving a man's body next to yours. _My_ body. I can see it in your eyes, and _you know it_." His eyes, wildly blue as chicory at sunrise on a summer morning, drank her in with uninhibited desire, and he smiled as she quivered from nerves, ravishing her awkwardness.

"You're delusional," she trembled, hating him for being right. He hadn't hurt her just now, not really, and that, perhaps, was what scared her the most; that he was being gentle, almost playful. Could this really be the true Jackson – the enigmatic, charming man from the Tex Mex? Had the rest been an act and just part of his job? He was so duplicitous, an enigma that made her frightened and aroused all at once.

His gentleness didn't change things, but still … "You're shaking like a leaf on a tree, Leese," he whispered close to her cheek, his lips touching her as light as a feather as he spoke.

"Because you disgust me," she declared, raising her face proudly and struggling against him. This seemed to encourage Jackson, and he pressed firmer into her, stifling a moan through his nose as the evidence of his desire pressed hard against her, and the craving in his eyes said it all.

He slowly brought his lips down to hers, barely touching them. "And what about now? Hmm?" he asked sensually against her mouth, his eyes partly shut. The tickling of his lips, speaking upon hers incensed her and ignited her all at once. His breath was exotic, and smelled of oranges. "What about now?"

Lisa gulped. She really wanted to just give in and let fate seal itself. She wanted _him_, but she knew better. So she did the right thing, the integral thing, the Lisa Reisert thing, and raised her right knee up strongly between his thighs, lingering, threatening. "You have two seconds to get off me," she cooed icily as he nuzzled her nose, "And one second to convince me why I shouldn't run the hell out that door. Now _back … off_."

He let her hands go, but instead of freeing her, he released only her arms, and his hands slid down and around to grab her behind, massaging the soft, young flesh of her butt through the fabric and tugging her firmly against him. She could feel him all too clearly as his hips disappeared into hers, and he leaned his face in close again, the expression in his eyes naked in their craving.

"No, Leese … you don't want me to do that," he whispered huskily, staring into her eyes.

Lisa inhaled sharply through her nose, trying not to look at him, because every time she did she had the eerie feeling that he saw right into her. "Don't I?"

"No," he murmured against her cheek, and she felt desire burn there as his stubble moved against her silky skin, leather on satin. It pulsated, leaving charged skin in its wake.

"Don't be so sure," she managed, and in a quick movement that took all the self control she possessed, lest she give in to him – and it was something she was unprepared to do; she kneed him in the crotch not quite as hard as she could have and pushed his shoulders away.

He made a high pitched noise akin to both a whimper and a neigh, and turned around holding himself, shooting her hateful daggers up at her with his eyes. _You bitch_.

Lisa walked away from the fridge, straightening herself out and nervously awaiting his retaliation, but what he said next just complicated things even more; it was the last thing she expected to hear from Jackson Rippner.

"It was worth it," he squeaked in falsetto, hobbling away to the bathroom like a penguin, and she heard a low grunt as he shut the door, swearing beneath his breath.

Ten minutes later, she had changed upstairs into warm, modest flannel pajamas that covered every inch of skin but her face and feet. Off came the pumps, off came the stockings, and off came the bra. She could finally breathe, but each breath came as a sigh.

_Jackson._

He hadn't said a further word, but she heard the springs of the old sofa creak downstairs as he shifted position. She switched off the lamp, absentmindedly stroking Cooper, who had joined her on the bed and lain out beside her, as if in a vicarious bid for his master's longings.

She didn't know how much longer she would be able to deny herself what she wanted; who she wanted.

"Jackson," she whispered as she closed her eyes.


	11. 3:37am

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or anything to do with the movie. Plot and storyline are mine.**

**Rating: Sexual content, language, may be unsuitable for younger readers.**

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews; it's great to get feedback on what you feel works and doesn't, what you like and what you don't – all this helps me as a writer, and I'm greatly appreciative to everyone who subscribes and reads this story, whether you review or not. This is the chapter most of you have been waiting for; after this the adventure commences, but it's time for Jackson and Lisa to get their moment. Enjoy.**

With each hour that passed, Lisa struggled to feign sleep. She found herself rolling over and constantly checking the alarm clock on the nightstand to see how much time had passed, and it went very, very slowly. It had now been three hours – 3:37 by the clock, and there was no movement or sound downstairs, the only audible noise coming from Cooper, who laid out on his side to her left, in a deep canine sleep. Lisa stared up at the beams of the steepled ceiling, tracing the visible edges of the thick wood in the dark as she ran over the last couple of days in her mind.

Her job at the Lux Atlantic was history; she had dealt with that fact several days ago, coming to grips with the knowledge that she would have to start completely over once she was in Witness Protection – a new state, a new name, a new life. While she had never been particularly close with her mother and had secretly loathed her closet alcoholic, bipolar ways, she felt a sadness that she would never really be able to say goodbye. Maybe they'd let her write a letter or have a phone conversation with her one last time. . .

Lisa tried to focus on everything that had occurred, anything but what had just happened downstairs. The truth was, Jackson frightened her; not because of what he was, or what he had done to her in the past, but because of how he made her feel. Her throat tightened, and she gulped dryly as she lay there, her body instantly feeling his earlier touch. In the last two years she had been so turned off to men by the rape that she had been able to push her sexual desires on the back burner, focusing on her job and always trying to move forward in life. A slight smile danced upon her lips, remembering her grandmother's alma mater.

She stilled instantly as the sound of the front door opening and closing loudly reverberated through the cabin. Had Jackson left? She pushed back the duvet and padded barefoot to the window, looking out; but it was still too dark to see anything below but the outlines of the barn and chicken coop. Still, if he had left even for a moment, it would be a good time to use the bathroom and grab a drink without having to run into him after what had happened.

Clutching the finished wooden handrail, Lisa made her way quietly down the stairs, surprised by the amber glow of a low-burning fire Jackson had started in the stone hearth. The blankets on the couch were scrunched up and pushed back, and he was nowhere to be seen. She made a beeline for the bathroom, noting as she passed the open office area that the computer was on, and the familiar error box for the thumb drive was still up. _Glad to see I'm not the only one having insomnia tonight_.

Once finished with the bathroom, she poked her head around the corner again in case he had come back in; there was no sign of him being there. She went into the kitchen, feeling around carefully in the dark so as not to wake him up. Drawing a tall, clear glass from an overhead cupboard, she filled it up with water and took a few long sips, standing over the sink.

"A guilty conscience keeping you awake?"

She jumped at the sound of Jackson's voice. He leaned against the doorframe several feet away, his hair tousled but eyes menacing as he watched her.

"Ha, keep dreamin'. I heard the door shut down here and I needed to use the bathroom."

"I had to get more firewood," he said quietly, stepping into the darkened room.

Lisa turned and primly emptied the half-drained glass in the sink, about to turn back when she felt him suddenly behind her, leaning in, inhaling her scent, so close to touching her.

"Lisa," he whispered, tired and huskily. He heard her little sigh at his presence and felt her tense up, stiffening with the glass in hand as the tap water ran a low stream, but he could not help himself. Her hair smelled lovely, and he had to be close to her. "It's too damned late to do this shit," he whispered into her hair. "And you know what I mean."

He touched his lips to her auburn tresses, and put his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened, but when she did not object, he began massaging her, gentle at first, then more deeply.

The knotted arm and shoulder muscles she had worked during their bout in the basement felt sweet release. Lisa sighed, and though the angel on her shoulder was asking what the hell she thought she was doing, she relaxed back against Jackson and let him continue, forgetting herself. "That feels good," she admitted in a soft, throaty voice that sent his head spinning.

He could feel the little knots in her upper back smooth out beneath his skilled thumbs, and he worked his magic on her, privately grateful she was letting him touch her.

"I know it's been an unbelievable last couple of days," he whispered into her hair, "But things are going to be all right. I promise, Leese, that I won't let anything happen to you." After a moment, he slid his left hand off her shoulder, slowly down the length of her arm.

Lisa trembled slightly, but remained still as he entwined his warm fingers with hers. The last time anyone had touched her so intimately, discounting the assault and the kiss with Brian, had been well over two years ago … but she didn't need to tell him that. He knew everything about her.

She closed her eyes, reveling in the warmth of Jackson's body behind hers, his large hand engulfing her petite palm, strong and shapely fingers between her own, gentle but protective; and she could not deny herself that she had dreamed of this since speaking with him at the Tex-Mex. Were those his soft lips pressing warmly against her hair? She exhaled, caught up in the ebb and flow of the tidal wave that threatened to overtake them both.

"Jackson," she breathed, afraid to think, afraid to move. This had to be a dream.

"Leese?" Yes, he was definitely kissing her hair now, moving her auburn strands to the side and working his way down the side of her neck, and oh, could she actually be that strong and tell him to stop when it felt so good?

"Jackson, I c-" She waited with baited breath for him to continue as his lips lingered, then found their target at the side of her throat, soft and opulent against flesh that had been lonely for far too long. This was definitely no dream. His lips were so soft and accommodating, shutting out all rational thought from within.

"You … what?" he murmured lowly, kissing behind her jawbone just below her ear. He slid his hands slowly up her arms toward her breasts. She began to mutter his name again to tell him to stop it, and wondered how many times she had repeated it in the last minute, like a broken record. _Jackson … Jackson …. Ja-_

"I …" She inhaled sharply and leaned against him as his fingers found a breast, tracing carefully over it with rough, course fingertips, sending lovely frissons through her that were enough to drive her mad as his lips lingered above her left ear, grazing her earlobe.

A powerful urge surfaced low in her belly, and though warning bells sounded in her head and big neon sign was flashing that she should move away, Lisa moaned lightly and pressed back against him, driven by a primal beckoning that he had stirred when she had first met him. "I… mmm."

Wanting him to continue, knowing it needed to stop, wanting it to go on.

She heard him stifle a moan, felt his maleness strong against her, and his caresses intensified. He muttered inaudibly against her neck, but she was pretty sure he was saying her name as well. Then it came in a clear, low voice. "You're _mine, _Lisa_._" But it wasn't in an "I control you or possess you" kind of way – it was more of a gentle but honest declaration.

Lisa lost herself, leaning her head back as Jackson kissed her throat, reveling in every touch and play of his lips. It felt so wrong, so forbidden, and so exquisite all at once. He was sensual and delicate and brutal all at once, and she was helplessly falling.

He began to turn her towards him, and one look on his beautiful face woke her up. His cerulean eyes were beaming with smoldering desire, passion. He started to press into her, his lips targeting hers with direct stealth. He knew exactly what he was doing, and she knew instinctively he was obviously very well trained in the discipline of kissing.

Lisa pushed his chest away before it actually happened, feeling flushed and dizzy. "W-wait," she breathed, shutting her eyes. _Get a grip, Lisa. Just count to ten, and breathe. THINK about what's happening here._

"What's wrong?" he panted, locking his arms around her lower back, pulling her roughly to him so she couldn't escape. The wild blue of his eyes stared unabashedly into hers, starting little currents of pleasant electricity within her, but the warmth of his body to hers, his vivid closeness, scared her even more.

"I just … Jackson, I can't just _go for it_," Lisa stammered, blinking and trying to avoid his eyes, to do anything to slow down the throbbing that had begun within her. Guilt surged through her at how strongly the urge for him came. So many desires suppressed for so many years. _It's been so long_… She wriggled a bit, hoping he would loosen his grip, but he didn't.

"Why not?" he asked seductively, dropping his tone to a sultry bedroom voice. "I want you, and you want me. Let's not talk it to death and waste time with trivialities, when we can give each other so much more. Hmm?" His eyes twinkled darkly, and having a glimpse of the darker side of him that was more in line with the one she had known on the Red Eye gave her the stamina to regain herself and push him away, though it took everything she had. _Remember what he's done. Who he is. He's like a bull in a china shop._

She hastily turned the faucet off and briskly wiped her hands on a checkered cloth towel, stepping away to put some distance between the two of them, keeping her head down. _Avoid his eyes at all costs. That's what started this whole mess._

"I'm sorry," she said crisply. "It just feels too… wrong." Okay, so that wasn't exactly in line with the word she was thinking of (amazing, heavenly, phenomenal to name a few), but given the percentage of women faced with embarrassing predicaments that ever actually admit to what they're truly feeling, she felt entitled. It was her God-given right.

He was so maddeningly sure of himself, sauntering a bit closer to her with that sexy stance of his, eyeing her hungrily like a wild cat on the prowl. "Interesting you should say that, Leese. What's that old adage about two wrongs making a right?"

Lisa pursed her lips and shook her head, throwing the towel in the sink. She was grateful when her assertive side stepped up, and she used her managerial voice, putting her hands on her hips. "I think we're the last people on the planet that saying applies to, Jackson. Look, I just … can't be with you. Not in that way, all right. Not now."

"Not ever?" he asked doubtfully, lifting an eyebrow. She knew he was reading her like a book as a slightly smug expression crossed his face. _I must be so red. Is my face giving away how turned on he's made me? Can he hear my heart pounding? _Jackson narrowed his eyes, his lips suddenly fuller and closer, stretching into a grin. _That answers that question. _

"I'm sorry," she said curtly, and she spun away on her heel, walking swiftly through the hall towards the stairs.

He caught her by the waist as she passed the fireplace, and spun her around, crashing his lips down to hers, and holding her to him. The tingling that alighted her body shocked her, but moreso was the tender way he caressed her while giving her the greatest kiss of her life.

All resolve and memory of him melted along with her stiffness, and she relaxed in his arms, beginning to kiss him back. Jackson moaned lowly, his hands roaming her back and into her hair. Lisa's knees literally weakened as he deepened the kiss, and they both sunk to the floor on their knees before the fire, arms entwined, searching, clutching.

Jackson drew back just enough to look into her eyes, and Lisa was moved by the firelight dancing in his eyes, the glow of the flames alighting his skin. "I need you, Lisa." He said earnestly, and she felt an overwhelming desire to draw him to her.

She bit her lower lip, tracing her finger along Jackson's mouth. "I-I'm afraid." It was perhaps the most honest thing she'd said to him. He kissed her.

"Don't be. Let me love you. I want to," he said, shaking his head with conviction. "_Very _much."

A shiver played down Lisa's spine, and she shook. "Yes," she whispered before rational thought could take over.

His eyes slanted with want for her, and Jackson gently cradled her down to the carpet, running his hand along the side of her face, down the length of her neck to her collarbone. Never taking his eyes off her, he unbuttoned the first two buttons on her pajama top, and lay down to kiss her scar with loving insistence. Lisa's eyes slowly closed, and then there was nothing but the two of them, and an intimate, primal conversation their bodies held with one another.

Later, amidst a comfortable quilt and throw pillows he had yanked down from the sofa, they lay afterwards, limbs entangled, staring on their sides at the orange flames that licked the dying logs.

"I love you, Lisa," Jackson whispered into her ear, running his finger along the lissome curve of a body she worked very hard for. She turned in his arms, locking eyes with him, and his amethyst-blue pools beamed down at her radiantly, counting their last few hours of passion.

"I love you, too." She said, and found herself laughing. "It's crazy, and insane, and a psychiatrist would probably have a field day with this… but I love you, too." She slid her arms around his neck and drew him down to her. "Touch me, Jack."

He did.


	12. Jackson's Assistant

**Disclaimer: Don't own the characters or movie, blah blah blah, storyline and plot are mine.**

**A/N: I wanted to get this one out before next week since it was mostly already written. I love writing this story. It's such a blast to take a hiatus from the day-to-day and delve into the world of Lisa and Jackson. Enjoy!**

They had been dozing. For how long, she was unsure, only that she had never felt so comfortable and satiated in all her life. Lisa snuggled back against Jackson, sighing gently. It had to be coming up around six if her instincts were correct.

The last several hours had been the most amazing of her life. He made love to her with all sorts of intensities, convincing her body it would never be the same again, and she lay quietly, forbidding her more sensible nature to start dissecting the possible repercussions of what had occurred. Thinking was outlawed this early in the morning, and she contented herself with the warmth of his chest pressed against her back, his arm draped heavily over her side.

"You know, of course, that I can't possibly let you go after this," Jackson said lazily in her ear.

Lisa grinned. "I thought you were asleep."

His finger ran down the length of her arm as he propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at her in the firelight. "I never sleep." He gave her a rakish grin, letting his fingers play over the taut, slim muscles of her upper arm. "You know, Leese, you're deceivingly athletic."

"Mmm, the last few hours prove that to you, did they?" she returned playfully.

He chuckled low, pleasantly. "What do _you_ think?"

Lisa let out a yawn, turning on her back to look up at him. "I think … that I need a shower. And sleep. And breakfast."

Jackson kissed her lightly. "What makes you think you're going anywhere, princess? I've finally got you where I want you." He playfully loomed over her. "What made you so strong? How did you come to be so … resilient?"

Lisa blushed beneath his admiring gaze, glancing down at her hands. "I don't know. My dad, I guess." He retreated to the side, seeming to sense her need to talk.

"Oh yeah? Why is that?"

She shrugged. "I guess I just toughened up when he started to assistant coach my field hockey team. He had us to these drills called 'Red Light, Green Light', where we'd have to do push-ups, sit-ups, or run around the field or jog in place and switch whenever the light switched. Since I started doing those drills, I think it just hardened me and made me realize I could do anything I set my mind to, as long as I put the effort in."

Jackson's icy blue gaze bore into her. "You're amazing, Lisa Reisert."

She put a palm to his cheek, relishing the exotic look and sandpapery feel of his early morning stubble. "Well, what about you, Jackson? Who are you? What makes _you_ who you are?"

Jackson leaned his chin into her hand, kissing the center of her palm while looking into her eyes. "You do," he said gently.

Lisa tilted her head. "Oh come on, be serious."

"I _am_ serious."

She sighed. "You know what I mean. Here we are, having made the greatest love in the world, and I know nothing about you."

Jackson settled against her, wrapping her in his arms and kissing the tip of her small nose. "You know everything important about me there is to know, Lisa. More than anyone in the world."

Lisa furrowed her brow. "But I know nothing of your past. For instance, your Notre Dame sweatshirt. Did you really go there?"

A slight smile tugged at his lips. "I did. And I graduated summa cum laude. I was recruited originally by the FBI, but the CIA had other plans for me."

She shook her head. "See, that's a whole another side of you that I don't know, a whole history to you I have no idea that's made you who you are."

Jackson pushed back a few curls that had strayed into her face. "Leese. Listen, you know who I am, this is me. The real me. Sarcastic, stubborn, slightly sadistic, sexual…" Lisa giggled when his hand slid up her hip suggestively.

"Did you practice that in the mirror?"

"Every night before bedtime. No, princess," he smirked. "But, like you had 'Red Light, Green Light,' I have experiences that have made me who I am. It doesn't matter about my past, though. If you love the man you see before you, that's the important thing. I love you, Lisa. I meant what I said. I fell in love with you the first time I saw you."

Lisa's eyes widened. "Say that again."

"I love you," he said plainly.

"No, the other part."

"I fell in love with you the-"

"No," she waved her hand flippantly. "No, the 'Red Light, Green Light' bit … oh my God. Oh … my … G-" she shirked off his hands and sat up, drawing the blanket to her body. Jackson sat up, rubbing his weary eyes.

"What? What is it?"

Lisa dropped the blanket and stood up in the nude, looking around for her discarded pajamas.

"What, you want to play it now? I'm game, Leese," Jackson said cockily. She grabbed the nearest throw pillow and threw it at him.

"Knock it off. Later, Casanova. No, get dressed. C'mon."

Jackson was up in a flash, stepping into his pajama pants and following her as she yanked her pajama top over her head and twisted it down her body. She went into the office area, sitting down in the black leather chair, and he knew that look on her face from two months of surveillance. It was her decisive, no-bullshit, onto-something look she often gave hotel employees.

"What's going through that stunning head of yours?" he asked, scooting the other chair up next to her.

"Turn on the light, and get me a pen, please." She ordered.

"Sure. Just as long as you don't stab me in the throat again," he quipped.

Ten minutes later, Lisa had an assortment of passwords listed in hastily-scribbled but neat handwriting: RLGL0952 (her father's birthday) RLGL1278 (her birthday), and many other codes aligning possible matches. She got through on the second try, and Jackson rewarded her by grabbing her face in his hands and kissing her with everything he had.

He took over at the helm, completely concentrated as he navigated through the seven encrypted files on the thumb drive. After fiddling with the first entitled KEEFE LIASONS, he was able to get in with RLGL and her father's anniversary date. "You beautiful, amazing woman," he breathed as he opened the file, reading the names of the word documents and .pdfs of Keefe's well-kept secrets. "I knew you could do it, Leese."

Standing beside him, Lisa tensed for a brief moment, wondering if, like on the plane, he would turn tail and harden up now that he had what he was after. But he answered her question by sliding his arm around her waist and bringing her down to his lap, threading a hand through her hair to cup the back of her neck. "You're phenomenal, do you know that?" he breathed excitedly, kissing her throat.

Nervously, she flitted her eyes to the side. "I'm okay."

"You," he muttered between kisses, "Are. Amazing." He drew his face back, studying her contemplatively. "You look like you could use a shower. Go take one, and I'll make breakfast. Scrambled eggs," he muttered against her earlobe.

"Mmm."

"With paprika. And blueberry pancakes, with fresh blueberries from Richard's garden."

Lisa wiped a bit of sleepy dust from the corner of her eye as Jackson nuzzled into her neck. "But don't you want to see what's on these first?"

"It can wait," he rasped. "The drop isn't until Friday night, two days' time, and anyway Richard will be here this morning. I need him to look at these with me in case I miss anything."

"I thought he was just your assistant, though?"

Jackson drew his face back, regarding her amusedly. "Don't miss a beat, do you? That's why you're my girl. He used to be Keefe's private physician." Lisa's jaw fell open, and he laughed at her expression. "Go take a shower, Lisa. I'll make you a breakfast you deserve, you can meet Richard, then get some more sleep if you need to." He touched her neck, love radiating from his light blue eyes into hers. "Regardless of what happens, how this goes down, I'm going to spend the next two days making love to you as much as possible and never letting you out of my sight."

For better or worse, Lisa slid her arms around him, giving him a sweet hug. "Works for me," she yawned. He chuckled and patted her behind as she made her way to the bathroom.

A half an hour later after changing upstairs and drying her hair, Lisa stepped down the last step to meet Jackson in the kitchen, fresh with a little makeup on. She halted in her tracks as the front door opened, and the last person in the world she expected stepped in, surrounded by an ecstatic Cooper, who was barking and demanding a fuss from the stranger.

"You!" she shouted, mere feet away.

Lisa couldn't believe her eyes as the tall, dark-haired, irate doctor from the Red Eye flight entered the cabin from the damp morning outside, stomping his muddy boots on the mat before bending down to unlace them.

"Down, Coop. Confounded RV almost slipped off the road. It rained all the way up here. Hello Lisa," he smiled pompously, straightening up to his full height and shrugging out of his coat. "You know, dear, you should really try not to stare at people with your mouth open, it's unattractive." He stepped out of his boots, and entered the room carrying a laptop case, spotting Jackson, who had freshened up himself and just popped his head in from the kitchen. "There he is!"

The two men enthusiastically shook hands, and Jackson was all smiles when he clamped a hand on the doctor's tall shoulder, turning him to Lisa with a cat-got-the-cream smile. "Lisa Reisert, I'd like to officially introduce you to my long-standing good friend and associate, Dr. Richard Hamilton, formerly of Johns Hopkins University. Richard, Lisa."

Richard took Lisa's hand, and ignoring the stunned look on her face, he leaned down and kissed her knuckles. "Miss Reisert, it's a pleasure," he grinned gallantly. "I hope you've been keeping my boy here on his toes."

_My boy? Is this Jackson's father?_ Lisa looked between the two men for some kind of familial resemblance, but the only likeness between the two was their composed but jovial dispositions.

"Oh, she has," Jackson chuckled. "Come on, we were about to have some breakfast." The men seemed amused at Lisa's look of blatant shock as she followed them into the kitchen.

"Go on, sit down, Leese, it's okay." Jackson held out a seat for her, scooting it in when she sat down, and he busied himself bringing the dishes to the table with gusto as Richard sat down next to her, pouring himself some coffee with a superior look.

"You looked shocked, my dear," he said as he fixed his cream and sugar.

"Well, what do you expect?!" she stammered, turning her head to the slender man who was humming happily at the counter. "How many more people did you have on that flight, Jackson?" A sudden image came into her mind of a toothy-white grin, an overly manufactured tan, and lots of make-up on a botoxed face. "Was that blonde woman who had you-"

Jackson laughed, suddenly right over her shoulder, sliding pancakes onto her plate with a spatula. "No, she really _was_ that dappy … Say when, princess," he whispered in a sexy voice, pleasantly close her ear, pouring a little, white pitcher of fresh blueberries mixed with sauce over her pancakes. Little shivers went through her when he spoke so close, and she blushed, holding up a hand when she had enough blueberries.

"That's fine… thank you."

Jackson seemed pleased with himself, and worked away at the kitchen counter with his back turned to them.

She directed her attention to Richard. "So, what are you exactly, like the Alfred to his demented Batman?"

Richard smirked, bobbling his head. "Something like that, except I'm from Tallahasse, better dressed, under sixty-five, and I have a medical degree, which to my knowledge, Alfred never had." Jackson snorted from the counter.

Lisa set down her half-drained orange juice, her thoughts running rampant. "Wait … so, am I getting this correctly – you _staged_ that whole thing in the terminal line?" she asked incredulously to the both of them.

"I wasn't planning on talking to you until we boarded the flight," Jackson confessed over his shoulder. "But Richard decided the better of it and took it upon himself to make a scene before it was time."

Richard shrugged at Lisa. "I saw you two glancing at each other as the line progressed, I put two and two together and thought you might as well have the window of opportunity to be normal people before all hell broke loose. I thought I gave a rather convincing performance. At least that poor booking agent thought so," he grinned a private grin, and Lisa just shook her head in amazement.

"I thought it was a bit over the top, myself," Jackson commented lightly, pouring more orange juice in Lisa's glass over her shoulder from the clear pitcher. He turned his head and winked at her as he did so, and she had the feeling she was still ensconced in some bizarre dream or on drugs. _This is completely mental!_

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" Richard went on, slicing a sausage on his plate. "It got you to first base, and that's half the battle. Even if she did almost do you in, figuratively speaking."

Lisa frowned. "Wait. Why didn't _you_ stop me, after I'd stabbed him? Shouldn't you have run after me, too?"

Richard tapped his forehead with his index finger, throwing Jackson a glance. "Ha ha, you were right. Bright girl. I _told _you I had a good feeling about this one. It would have brought more attention to us if I'd of chased you down too, Lisa. Besides, it's not what I do. Probably would've given myself a heart attack or a coronary, or both. My role was simply to be a distraction if necessary, loud, annoying, and irritable, which I'm quite good at, if I do say so myself." His grin twitched a little.

"Yep, I'll agree with that one." Added a raspy voice from the counter.

"Shut up, Jackson." Richard tossed Lisa a smile, which she returned. She liked him already. "Well, that, and I've never seen a woman kick Jackson's ass quite like you did. I enjoyed watching you give him a run for his money."

Lisa laughed in disbelief as Jackson sat down and launched a bit of scrambled egg from his fork onto Richard's forehead.

"Fuck you," he chuckled.

She could only sit there trying to get a grasp on things as the men bickered good naturedly like old friends, making jokes about the pen in Jackson's throat.

"At least Leese had the good sense to make sure it was Frankenstein," Jackson speculated, sitting down to his meal and unfolding his napkin. "A lasting tribute to Mary Shelley if there ever was one. A Bic would've been just plain tacky. It _did_ hurt like hell, though," he gave her a dark look, to which she shrugged.

"Hey, don't look at me. I did what I had to. You deserved it."

"Get over it," Richard went on loudly. "It was only your windpipe. But you should've listened to me when I told you not to touch it. He never listens," he added in Lisa's direction. "I've seen Jackson actually yank a knife out of his stomach and run after someone when he was in the greatest pain of his life. In any case, m'boy, your trachea is as good as new thanks to my magic. You've had worse over the years, young Padawan."

Lisa waited for Jackson's retort, but his attention was focused directly on her, the cerulean blue orbs studying her own.

_Leese_.

A spark ignited inside her as though she could hear his thoughts from last night, and she was suddenly back at the Tex-Mex with that handsome stranger, basking in a cool pool of crystal blue, feeling singular and unique, all because she held this man's interest. But it was more than knowing she was a good person, a capable young Manager, and even that she had wiped the floor with him. He was special, mysterious, gorgeous and exciting, and he wanted her.

She noticed Richard smiling between the two, and shortly thereafter he stood and scraped off his plate, excusing himself. "Thanks for breakfast, I want to have a look at those files if you want to join me when you're done."

"Have at it," Jackson nodded. "The passwords are written down next to it. Let me just finish this and I'll be in to talk soon. Lots to catch up on."

"Indeed," Richard lifted an eyebrow. "Come on, Coop old buddy. Lisa, a pleasure to finally properly meet you."

"You too," she managed. Lisa held a hand to her cheek, shaking her head at Jackson on the other side of the table as Richard sauntered off with Cooper at his heels.

"What?"

"… I just can't believe that he staged that whole thing at the airport just to get us talking."

"I told him if at all possible to make me look good in front of you," admitted Jackson with a hint of a grin.

"Hmm. I see. And is that the usual tactical maneuver you use on all your targets?"

Jackson didn't reply, but he was grinning. _I think you know the answer, Leese_.

"Well, I've got to hand it to you, your guy is good," she lifted her eyebrows, picking at a bit of delicious scrambled egg with her fork.

"Yes, he is," Jackson agreed, taking a sip.


	13. Communication Tactics

**A/N: Dear Readers, first of all, thank you, thank you, **_**thank you**_** for the amazing reviews. It really gave me a swift kick up the backside to get in gear and back into this story. My sincere apologies for neglecting to update sooner; been a bit busy lately. The jig is officially up with The Dog Formerly Known as Tucker. :D I have an unrelated project in the works with a dog named Tucker in it, and I originally meant for Jackson's dog to be called Cooper. Ding me for inconsistency, just don't slam me against a lavatory wall unless you happen to look and sound like just like Jackson. ;)**

**Anyhoo, I've gone through the whole story and updated Coop's name – sorry for that li'ul mix-up, and thank you for catching it! I will definitely be finishing this story regardless of how long it may take, and there's a plethora of angst and action coming up as the story draws to a climax and close, but I'm taking my time on it as I want to finish it properly and not rush quality. About six or so more chapters to go until it's complete. Please enjoy; if you feel so inclined, reviews truly do make my day, and I benefit from hearing what you all think. Cheers.**

**Rating: This chapter contains sensual/sexual content that may be unsuitable to younger readers. Also, mild language.  
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**Lisa's slender fingers lightly tapped her tightened, pale throat as she leaned back against the office wall, trying to hold in the bile that wanted to surface while she watched Jackson and Richard in front of the computer a few feet away.

A Windows Media Player screen was maximized on the monitor, and as the color-changing skin oscillated in waves with the movements of the fluctuating voices, she felt more and more nauseous as facts confirmed themselves, and dread filled her heart. The Media file had only been playing for three minutes, and already she was mortified at what she had heard.

"-and do what needs to be done," Keefe's self-assured baritone clipped out from the speakers.

"Understood," responded an unfamiliar, gravelly voice. "And, uh, what do you want us to do about, you know, the girl - Reisert?"

Silence ensued, and Jackson turned his head, meeting Lisa's gaze with a somber expression.

"Same as her father," Keefe spoke again. "Destroy any evidence. Incinerate it. There can't be _anything_ tracing it back to us, is that clear? Make it look like an accident, do what I paid you to do."

"I'll get it done." The recording abruptly ended, and Richard let out a deep, frustrated sigh, his index finger pointing upwards along the side of his nose as he leaned intently forward on his closed hand. He shook his head in shock, and glanced at Jackson, who was still staring at Lisa.

"This must have been what ultimately led them to the house," Richard said in a clearly disgusted manner. "He was probably getting ready to hand it over to the Feds."

"It was intercepted," Jackson frowned, his eyes darting across the floor as he thought hard. "There had to have been an inside man at the Bureau working for Keefe, who was very close on the case, and he knew what Joe had. It shouldn't have even been linked otherwise."

A choked sob emitted from Lisa's throat, and she covered her eyes with a shaky hand as the two men looked up at her. "Why didn't my dad ever tell me any of this?" She shivered. "_Why? _Why didn't he ever bring it up or mention-"

"Because he was protecting you, Lisa," Jackson stood up and put his hands on her arms, rubbing them. She looked at him through welled up tears and sore, tired eyes, shaking her head bitterly.

"Come here." In a second Jackson's arms wrapped around her, and she found herself sobbing into his chest, tired and worn from a lack of sleep and malcontent.

"He could have saved himself, prevented all of this from happening if he'd only just _told_ me," she whispered. "I could have helped him."

Jackson stroked her curls gently, brushing his lips atop her head. "He wanted to safeguard you, Leese. And he wanted to do things right, by the book. He did the best he could."

Lisa was weary of crying; she had cried a lifetime in the last week, but the reserve was still there, and she nestled into his arms, shutting her eyes tight. When she opened them a few minutes later, Richard was cupping his chin with his thumb and forefinger, still contemplating over the desk. The doctor blinked furiously and frowned at the monitor. "What we have here," he said in slow, measured tones, "Is the equivalent of delivering an atomic bomb to the Politburo in China. There are going to be a lot of people after this, Jackson, if they're not already. You _could_ up the ante if you wanted to."

Jackson's jaw tightened a little as he weighed the idea. "No,"" he said firmly. "This is a matter of personal closure for Lisa, and means retirement for me. It changes nothing; the drop is still on." Jackson turned back to Lisa, putting a warm hand to her cheek. He lightly brushed away her tears with his thumbs.

He knew he couldn't rest now, despite how tired he was. His training wouldn't allow him to. But Lisa could afford a few hours of downtime, and at the moment she was his main concern. "You need some rest," he said gently, lifting her chin to look into her bloodshot eyes. "You've hardly slept in the last few days. Let's go upstairs and you can take a nap, hmm?"

Lisa had it on good authority to retort that 'hell no', she wasn't going to bed at nine in the morning when she'd just first-handedly heard a trusted old comrade of her father's maliciously plot their murder. She wanted to hear more recordings of Keefe's cell phone conversations and late night rendezvous, but fatigue whispered in her heart and the inertia began to weigh on her of all that had happened in the last few days; the funeral home, staying up past midnight trying to break the encryption, the morning's passionate, surreal exertions with Jackson; quelled by the revelations of Keefe's treachery. . .

Nodding her consent, Lisa let Jackson lead her warmly by the hand upstairs. They remained silent, and he closed the curtains and turned down the bed, climbing in beside her. She realized she was still crying silently, and she hated herself for being weak when he seemed so stalwart, so emotionally immoveable. She turned to her right side, and Jackson wrapped his arms around her, snuggling in close for warmth and surety.

He stroked her hair, the curve of her back, and the length of her arm until she fell asleep a few minutes later. Her dreams were a blur, but they came fast and deep as caverns.

"Lisa." A soft whisper.

She mumbled incoherently into her pillow.

"Leese."

"What?! Leeme lone," she grumbled, her body craving more rest. She heard a man's pleasant, deep chuckle, and popped open an eye to see Jackson squatted on his haunches before her, pushing a few stray curls back from her face.

"Time to wake up, sleeping cutie," he taunted in an annoying voice, reminiscent to when he had awakened her spouting Dr. Phil on the red eye.

Lisa reluctantly forced herself awake and sat up, brushing a finger over her watery eyes. It was now dark outside, and the side lamp on the nightstand was lit, bathing the room in a soft, rosy light. She gave him a funny look.

"What?" he smirked. He was dressed more like the Jackson she was used to, a nice dark tee shirt with a suit jacket and matching dark slacks, his face showered and shaved.

"The sleeping cutie remark. Ugh, Saccharin City," she gave him a 'spare me' look and rolled her eyes for good measure.

Jackson nodded and sat on the side of the bed very close to her. "Duly noted. I'll kill the terms of endearment and stick to something you associate me with; cynicism." He put a palm to her cheek, studying her eyes. "So, how're you doing? You look a bit better, none the worse for wear."

Lisa ran her fingers through her thick, tangled curls.

"Yeah, I feel like I got some sleep. I'm still a bit groggy, though. What time is it?" Her gaze flitted to a nearby window, where dusk had settled in and she could see the faint outline of the moon shining down.

"Half past seven," he said easily. "You've been asleep for about ten hours now."

"Shit. _Shit_," Lisa threw back the bed covers, jumping out of bed.

"What?" Jackson arched an eyebrow, looking amused. _Where's the fire, Leese?_

"What do you mean, _what_?" She sneered, straightening out her clothes and reaching for her brush. "Why didn't you wake me up, Jackson? What did I miss? Did you find anything more on the thumb drive? I can't believe you let me sleep in so la-"

"Lisa," her name came out like a caress as he stood up, and she did a double take as reality crashed over her in waves that she had actually given herself to him completely not even twenty four hours ago. He had told her he loved her, and she had returned it. _ Oh my God, what have I done… _

He walked quietly up to her, snaking his hands about her waist and drawing her to him, maintaining eye contact with her though he could see she was ill at ease. "Relax, Leese. Okay? Everything is well in hand. We have all the information we need on Keefe, thanks to you and your dad, and the day after tomorrow I'm doing the drop. After that, we'll cut a deal with some members in the Agency for your guaranteed safety, and then," his gaze wandered to her hair, where he stroked a few soft curls before returning his gaze to her forest-colored eyes. "Then, we'll see..."

Something about his tone put her off, and Lisa pursed her lips together crossly. She pulled out of his embrace, and turned to unnecessarily busy herself with the contents of her suitcase, still opened with neatly-folded clothing on the nearby armchair.

"'We'll see,' huh," she nodded indignantly, whipping out a pair of folded socks a little harder than was needed. "You know, I'm not surprised. Not at all, really."

A darkness fell across Jackson's face, and he advanced on her, grabbing her wrist. She kept her gaze downcast at the clothes. "Whoa. Hold on. What's that supposed to mean, 'you're not surprised?'"

"Nothing," she shook her head, backing up and sitting on the bed to change her socks.

Jackson sat right beside her, his shoulder flush with hers. He grabbed her chin and turned it to him so she was forced to meet his gaze. "No, Leese. What did you mean. What's going on?"

Lisa took a deep breath, exasperated. "What's going on is that I just realized I actually slept with you last night."

He smiled slightly. "And it was incredible. So what's the problem?"

"My problem is that I can't see you in the bigger picture, especially when you say things like you just did. And I'm the type of person that needs to." When he released her chin with a confused expression, she cocked her head to the side, deepening her voice in an imitation of Jackson's raspy timbre. "'Afterwards, we'll see, Leese.' Translate that to mean, what – 'if I feel like I'm up for more sex, maybe after everything I'll keep you around if I feel like it as long as you entertain me, and do what I say?'" Lisa knew as she ran her hands over her face that she was panicking, but her defense walls shot up with the comprehension that she had completely knocked down her walls last night, to the one person who could bring her life to a grinding halt in a split second. "I mean, I can't live like this, you know? I need security, I need assurance and stability, I need-"

Jackson clamped a hand over her mouth. "Lisa. I love you, but just, _shut up_ and listen to me for a minute." Her eyes narrowed, but she listened. "Now, I don't know where this is coming from, but I suspect you're having some kind of panic attack from all the things you've experienced in the last week. But you need to listen to me right now. Are you listening?"

His ice blue gaze bore into her, and though she wanted nothing more than to start arguing with him, something held her tongue, and she managed a brief nod. "Good," he continued. "Now look, you're reading a lot more into that comment than was actually there. All I meant was that I don't have all the answers – _yet_," he placated her, noting her frown, "But we're going to get through this, and regardless of how things wind up, we'll find a way to be together and make this work, okay?"

Lisa threw her head back to the ceiling in consternation. "Argh, but see, that's what you're not getting, Jackson."

He scratched his right eyebrow with the thumb of his nail. She couldn't be on her period, he had her cycle memorized, and she wasn't due for another few weeks. "What am I not getting?" he asked, trying to be patient. He had expected to come up, wake her up, and have some nice alone time with her.

"Jackson, we're speaking two separate languages here. We come from two totally different ways of life, and though last night was great, and it _was_," she blushed slightly, "Y-you live this … _lifestyle_ I can't approve of or honestly see myself in. I think in terms of stability, barbecues, summer vacations, 401k. You think in terms of how to survive from day to day and deal with people who want to kill you. When I say reservation, you say kill. When I say solution, you say kill. When I say-"

"Well, let's use another communication tactic then, something universal that we can both understand," he said, shutting her up.

He pushed her back on the bed, and was suddenly straddling her with his hips firmly against hers as he pinned her wrists to the sides of her face.

Jackson gave her a significant look, lowering his face closer. She felt his full, parted lips start to press into her own, but she broke apart instantly, looking away.

"No, Jackson. No, I can't do this. I told you before last night, I won't. Not with you."

Jackson knew that he normally would have put her in her place and made her forget all about the fact that she woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but something in her tone and voice caught his attention. She looked like a frightened child. He held her there for a few moment,s breathing deeply, then he rolled to his side and let her swing upright on the side of the bed, burying her face into her hands. Auburn waves fell over her fingers as she leaned forward, and he couldn't help place a hand on her lower back, scooting in closer to look up at her.

Tumultuous emotions raged inside Lisa, and she struggled to stay on top of them when one part of her wanted to believe in all Jackson had told her, and the other was flashing a huge 'Don't trust this guy' sign. "God, what am I doing? What have we done? This whole thing is a mess. You tried to _kill _me. You tried to kill my father!" He had put her through so much, and she had feared for her life with him, and had seen enough death to last her a lifetime. Now he wanted to kiss her and act like nothing had happened, like he was just the hot, mysterious guy from the airport gate? No, thank you.

Tenderly, Jackson slid off the bed in a smooth motion and knelt down on one knee before her, placing both his hands on her knees until she would look at him.

"Lisa, please listen to me, okay. I _knew_ if I didn't get you to make that call," he said passionately, articulating every word, "you, your dad, my men, _everyone_ would be dead. I _had_ to scare you. It's what I do, but it's not who I am, deep down where it counts."

"I don't know that," she whispered, staring at him, "In the bathroom, on the plane, at the funeral home even! You hurt m-"

"I _had_ to make you understand how high the stakes were" he hissed. "It was my job to make you not think of me then as someone that you might be interested in," he pleaded, putting his hands on her arms as a compassionate light danced in his eyes. "That night, in Dallas, I shouldn't have asked you to have a drink, even after Richard intervened … but I couldn't help myself. I've wanted you, everything about you, from the time I opened your file. Nothing's ever happened to me like that before. Not with any target, not with any wom-"

She angrily pushed him away through oncoming tears. "No, listen to what I'm saying. You _hurt_ me – you slammed me up against a wall, and later told me to suck up the pain. I don't want that kind of a man in my life. A night I can stand, but not forever. I have no interest in being with someone that continually causes me pain."

She watched as the breath left Jackson's body. He lowered his head, shutting his eyes.

"Please. I'm sorry about that … I was being unprofessional then. I – I lost control," he said in a broken voice, and turned away from her, standing up.

"Why?" she glared at his back. "You didn't really hurt me until you saw my scar. I want to know _why_."

Jackson stood up, unable to look at her. He raked his fingers through his unruly hair, half-turning. Why did she have to do this now, damnit? Why couldn't she just pretend like it had never happened?

Lisa was shocked when he finally turned around. Were those tears in his eyes? She thought it unlikely, but they were there all the same.

"I…" he stammered, and was quiet for a moment. She heard the crickets outside, and the cabin seemed unusually quiet. "I couldn't stand the thought that someone had hurt you, touched you." He shook with rage. "For eight _weeks_ I was filled with nothing but _you_, studying you, watching you, and God help me, yes, wanting you." He met her eyes, fire to fire. "Anger consumed me when I saw your scar, Lisa. I couldn't see straight, let alone think."

"So you decided to hurt me in return?" she asked gently.

Jackson sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could not look at her. His words came as though it pained him to say them. "I felt… so angry. Hate filled my whole body to the core at the thought that you had been – and that I wasn't there to stop it, to save you," He shook now, his voice tight and constrained.

Over his eight week period of observing her, he had begun to think about Lisa as his own, and to know that another man had violated her at a time when he could not have done anything made him crazy, insane with jealousy and wrath. "I forgot what was happening and where we were. All I knew in that second was that I couldn't breathe and I wanted to kill whoever had done that to you. It was like I was possess-"

Lisa stood, her eyes on fire. "But why do you care? What's it to you if I was raped? I was just a job, you said it yourself. You 'do your part, move on', remember? Well, I can't exist like that. When I open the door to someone, it's forever, and it's either all or nothing. Jackson,_ look_ at me. Look me in the eyes. Really, why do you care?"

He did, and a shiver went through her when she saw two tears spilling down his cheeks, the ice blue of his eyes as radiant as amethyst gems bathed in hollow light.

"Because I…" His eyes traveled to her full lips.

She waited, but he seemed to struggle with the depths of his emotions, and he surprised her by doing an about face and descending the stairs quickly with a tortured look on his face.

Before she could think, Lisa ran after him. She slightly slid on her socks, though, and the front door slammed before she had made it down the stairs. Richard didn't seem to be in the cabin, and she opened the door, stepping out into the frigid night air in only her socks.

It took a minute of carefully walking and poking her feet with rocks and pebbles, but she found Jackson at the corral gate down by the barn, his head in his hands as he leaned against the fencepost, shaking.

Moonlight washed over them, and without reservation, she walked up to him and touched his shoulder, turning him to her.

Neither said a word, but with fluid grace, Lisa slowly stepped closer to him, taking his hand. He turned her hand over, bringing her palm to his lips with such tenderness and passion it made her heart melt. Lisa touched his cheek with her fingertips, feeling the light sandpapery feel of his stubble. She looked up into his eyes.

"Where's Richard?" she asked as a second thought, motioning her head to where his RV had been earlier in the day.

"He left a few hours ago to drive to the nearest town and get some groceries," Jackson replied. His jaw trembled slightly, and she saw the goosebumps that had erupted along his neck.

"You're trembling," she whispered. "Why?" For a cold-hearted assassin, he seemed so vulnerable, almost childlike.

"Ha, funny coming from someone only wearing socks. Because … you're so beautiful, and so good, Lisa. And you're right, I'm not a class A citizen," he shook his head. "The truth, if you want it, is that I've done things in my life that would make you cringe. I want you more than I've ever wanted any other woman, Lisa. I feel like you were made for me … but, despite how I might like to live in this damned daydream for the next few days, I know I'm not worthy of you." He looked at the ground. "Don't think I don't know you're out of my league."

Lisa turned the palm he held, and kissed the top of his hand carefully while staring into his eyes that shone with moonlight. She was frightened, but also ashamed at how harshly she judged him when she was the one who had been living a lie the last three years.

"Jackson," she asserted, "Why don't you let _me_ be the judge of that, hmm?" She grabbed him by his shirt, pulling him down to her, kissing him deeply. His lips were soft and full and sumptuous. It was ambrosia.

As if he had to take a moment to register that it was actually happening, Jackson let her make the advance. But after a moment, the inferno exploded, and her mouth was his for the claiming. He wrapped his strong arms about her, and kissed the life out of her, caressing her back and touching her hip.

His lips, soft and warm and full on hers, his hands everywhere, touching, stroking, feeling.

The universe opened up for them both, and Lisa knew as her body ignited within his hold, that this was what she wanted, and needed, and craved with this strange enigma of a man. He could fulfill her, and she him. They had been fated for one another from the beginning.

"Upstairs. Now," she breathed between kisses.

That was all the incentive he needed. Jackson scooped Lisa off her feet, and carried her slowly up the stairs like a bride, his lips devouring hers. As he lay her on the bed and shrugged out of his suit jacket, they never took their eyes off of one another.

He was an artist of arousal, wielding his hands and tongue as deftly as an expert commanding a paintbrush, only her body was the canvas, her mouth the centerpiece, one which he took great care to slowly unearth.

The night began, and knew no end.


	14. Broken Shards

**Disclaimer: These characters belong to Wes Craven and the brilliant Carl Ellsworth. I merely write about them because it's fun.**

**Rating: This chapter and specifically the next one have a slight bit of everything; mild to strong language, sexual connotations, shocking/graphic descriptions, etc. Please note this may not be suitable for younger readers or those easily offended. But it's nothing too seedy that wouldn't be in a PG-13, folks. **

**A/N: Can I just say that those reviews blew me away? I mean, Wow. I'm speechless and really touched. Thanks so much to all who subscribe to this story and read it, I know not all of you review because it's like a 30% ratio of those subscribed and anonymous readers that actually DO review, but all the same I'm really pleased you are enjoying this and it makes my day to hear what you think after reading it. I really love this story, and can't believe it's almost over. I'm posting two chapters back to back for your enjoyment. The end is in sight! Thanks again, reviewers! ****:)**

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At oh-dark-thirty a.m. the next morning, Jackson was standing at his office desk still quite disheveled in his pajamas, zipping up his laptop case and checking the folders and documents within when Richard came through the front door, grocery sacks in hand.

"Hey," Jackson glanced over his shoulder. "Burning the midnight oil, huh? Glad to see I'm not the only insomniac on the property. Saw your light on. Want a hand with those?"

Richard walked straight into the kitchen. "Nah, you're all right," he called quietly, "There's not too many to bring in. They've been in the RV fridge all night."

When the doctor was out of sight, Jackson detached the second thumb drive he had been downloading from the USB port from his hard drive, and quickly pocketed it in his pajama trouser pants.

He took out Joe's thumb drive and swiftly locked it away in the laptop case, turning off the computer before meandering into the kitchen and relaxing against the doorframe as Richard began to unload the groceries.

"I heard you drive in last night," Jackson said casually. "Thanks for not coming in." He and Lisa had been quite busy up until about three, and not exactly quiet about it to say the least. He smirked slightly to himself, thinking about her exhausted little form lying on his bed upstairs.

The older man nodded with a grunt as he placed a loaf of bread in the fridge. "Well, I uh, figured you'd want some privacy."

Jackson let out a teetered breath through closed lips, putting his hands behind his head with the thoughts of the arduous task that lay before him in the next few days. "Well, soon as I do the damned drop, you'll have your _own_ privacy back and we'll be out of your hair, probably for good. Hey, man, listen, I just want you to know I really appreciate everything you've done on this so far."

Richard offered him a crooked smile at the unusually sincere tone as he walked back out to get more groceries. Yep, Lisa had the boy under her thumb. "That's what I'm here for, Rippner. To keep you squared away."

Jackson waited until the front door shut again, then he took his locked laptop case from the office and slid it into a crevice between the desks, concealing it with a box of paper in front of the crack. He went back into the kitchen, putting a few groceries away while Richard brought in the rest. After they were all unpacked, Richard opened a large Folgers can on the counter.

"I was going to make some coffee. Want some?"

Jackson held up a hand. "No thanks, I'm going to go back upstairs in a few, see if I can go back to sleep. You know, Rich, you're probably the only other person I know that sleeps less than I do."

Richard turned around, and it occurred to him that he didn't look like a man who had just been on holiday in Mexico; he looked slightly haggard and worn. But it could just be the ungodly hour of the morning. The Doctor adopted his usual pompous expression that always seemed mingled with amusement. "Yes, well, we the emotionally disenfranchised have to compensate our hours that otherwise would have been spent in dreamlike peril in some other constructive way."

"And not sleeping is better than having to deal with the nightmares?" Jackson asked carefully. He knew Richard dreamt of his family getting murdered often, though ten years had passed.

The older man simply shrugged and poured himself a cup of Joe.

"It's more peaceful, yes," he muttered before taking a sip.

"Did you stop taking the sleeping pills?"

"Hey, smart ass, who's the doctor and who's the patient here?"

Jackson put his hands up politely. "Hey, I'm just askin' here as a concerned employer."

Richard looked over his mug of coffee. "I didn't like not being in control of my consciousness. It felt like being drunk every night, and I don't like that feeling. At least this way I have a say in what happens to me and when I dream or don't dream."

Jackson nodded.

It wasn't his place to preach to Richard when he himself sometimes had nightmares about his parents and his twisted upbringing before they died. In an odd sort of way, he had always gravitated and felt more open towards those who had suffered personal tragedy in their lives but tried to overcome it, which was why he related so well to Lisa. Like him, she was a powerhouse that never took anything lying down, and if Richard felt safer evading sleep, more power to him.

"So. Have you told Lisa?" Richard asked.

Jackson cocked his head back arrogantly, feigning indifference. "Told her what?"

He lifted an eyebrow as if to say _you know what. _"That you might not come back."

Jackson didn't move a muscle, but inwardly he flinched.

"Please intercede here if it's none of my business," Richard lifted his mug to him and took a sip. "But in the event that you _don't _come back," he took a step towards Jackson, locking intelligent dark brown eyes with piercing blue ones as he lowered his voice so as not to wake up the sleeping guest upstairs, "And you know, and _I _know, Jackson, that it's a strong possibility with things the way they are … don't you think you at least owe it to her to give her closure if something happens to you?"

Jackson inhaled sharply through his nose and folded his arms commandingly. "Nothing's going to happen to me."

"I certainly hope it doesn't, my boy," the Doctor's voice was heavy with concern. "It's the last thing I would want, and I'm sure Lisa would agree with me. But I feel its incumbent upon me to warn you that if I know Keefe's consortium, and I do Jackson, he's got more than one Fibbie on the task force in the Bureau, probably the same assholes that helped abduct and torture you a few weeks ago. I'd watch my back when delivering the package; he most definitely has a plan, and he'll be lurking, waiting for you."

"And you don't think I'm aware of this," Jackson mused in measured tones.

Richard laughed and shook his head as he nursed his coffee. "Oh, I never said that. I know you too well to question your judgment. We'll stick to the plan, I know what to do if something happens and I'll take care of Lisa. Just, you're not, erm, taking any weapons, are you? I'm sure they told you not to."

Jackson gave him a dangerous look. "Y'know, Rich, I don't think I've ever heard you once, in all these years we've worked together, ask that before about any of my previous assignments."

Richard rolled his eyes and gave Jackson a weathered "please, you know what I'm on about" look. "And you know I normally never would; just this assignment I have certain knowledge about the target, and I'm _urging_ you that this isn't the one to botch up or get overly confident on, Jackson. I know Keefe, and he's always got something up his sleeve. It's why he's where he is, why he's so dangerous.

"The man's more silver-tongued and cunning than a wolf. You don't want to put the cart before the horse here and go in thinking you've got it sold. Because there's an eighty percent chance that they're going to grab you before you even step inside Headquarters, which you well know. I bet the car will be waiting."

Jackson studied Richard's heated face, and determined by his body language and history with the man that he was simply playing the role of concerned proxy father and loyal assistant. Jackson smirked slightly and nodded his head.

"I have it under control. I'm not dismissing what you just said, though. I'll take it under consideration. But all the same, I'll deal with Lisa as I'll deal with her, and right now she doesn't need to know. Goodnight, Richard," he said succinctly.

"Goodnight," he heard as he made his way back to the stairs.

Cooper was curled up in his dog bed near the sofa, and Jackson paused to stroke his golden fur before silently making his way back to Lisa.

She slept deeply, sated and unaware, and it struck him when slowly taking off his clothes and looking at her small form beneath the mountain of blankets how delicate but powerful she was in what she could do to him.

Such was the idea flowing through his mind as he nestled close to her warm body, holding onto the one real thing in his life. He knew he would not go back to sleep, but to lay here with her was all the rest and recumbency he needed.

As he fingered her curls, his mind shot back to several weeks ago, when he had cut a deal with Special Agent Jose Ocasio back in prison:

_Jackson grabbed the file presented to him and threw it across the room, crashing it into the wall. "Hey!"Ocasio bellowed, standing up. Jackson palmed the desk and got in the man's face from the other side, as intimidating as he could be in his orange prison jumpsuit._

"_Listen up, fuck face, because I'm only saying this once, and if you don't agree to my terms than we have no deal. I'll go back to my cell with my cable TV, three square meals a day, and one hour in the gym, which I've got to tell you has done wonders for my pecks. I have no problem turning around right now and forgetting this little conversation ever happened. So here's how it's gonna go. Lisa will not survive a _day _under your protection. You give her to me, and I guarantee I can keep her safe until this is all over. Then your guys can give her a new life and all the fake legalities that come with it. But if you don't give her to me to protect, we have no deal." _

_In fact, Ocasio had been so pissed off he'd made him wait it out in his cell for two days straight, then after an hour's battle of laying out the 'if you harm one hair on her head while she's with you' riot act, Jackson had been released in his civilian clothes, only to be picked right up by Keefe's goons and tortured until his escape._ He grimaced slightly in the dark against Lisa's back, remembering how much time he'd lost in getting her and her dad out of harm's way by allowing himself to get caught. But that was another story.

Jackson lay there, tracing Lisa's body with his finger almost imperceptibly, memorizing every curve, every graceful hollow, and every freckle that made up this amazing creature, this exquisite woman. _His_ woman. No, she would never be put in harm's way again. Not while he still had breath in his body; he had already caused her a lifetime of fear and pain, and he wanted to spend the rest of it making it up to her.

Jackson never fell back asleep, but for the first time in a very long time, he lay contented; learning and exploring every bit of her, enjoying her unconscious sighs each time his flesh brushed over hers.

*~*

Lisa awoke to a fully dressed Jackson lounged out on his side, smiling down at her. "Morning. Or should I say, afternoon. It's just gone twelve. Feel up to a picnic?"

She smiled widely like she had for him at the airport all those months ago, only this time it wasn't out of nervousness.

An hour later, they were flying in Jackson's copter down to the waterfall he'd taken them to a few days ago, but he went further downstream and landed in an open patch of grassy knoll about twenty feet from the riverbank.

Lisa wore a simple dark green cotton shirt that brought out her eyes and was clad in simple dark blue jeans, and she had pulled her hair back into a high ponytail. She carried a folded blanket in her arms as Jackson helped her step down from the bird, and she marveled at the sight around them.

They were close enough to see the rising mist and beautiful cascade of the waterfall in the distance, but far enough away to be able to distinguish between the rippled ridges upon the tops of the gurgling, creeping water that rushed down river, catching the light of the sun and azure sky in random reflections.

"This is beautiful." She breathed, taking it all in. What a break away; and he must have known she needed it.

Jackson shouldered a black mesh backpack with their picnic food and took her hand. "Come on."

The autumn day was warm and humid with clouds occasionally drifting through the skyline, but the cool mist mingled with a slight wispy breeze from the water cooled Lisa's skin and made her decide to take down her hair once they'd picked a nice, low grassy spot to sit down in near the water. She began to undo her ponytail as she sat on the dark, plaid blanket Jackson spread out, watching as he reached into the mesh backpack.

"Humor me for a moment." He watched Lisa shake a glorious mane of shiny red coils out from the freed elastic, and paused for a moment to admire the effect as it tumbled just slightly below her shoulders. She really was breathtaking.

"Okay," she said tentatively, her reluctant tone hinting that she hadn't a clue where this was going.

Jackson began to peel the orange in his hand, glancing up at her. "If you were given the opportunity of going anywhere in the world you wanted to, what would you do?"

"Check my lottery ticket to make sure I wasn't dreaming, then my sanity," she quipped.

"Let's say money wasn't an issue. Where would you like to go?"

Lisa lifted her eyebrows slightly, her eyes veering to the side as she contemplated the deeper meaning this could have. She knew the numbers of those in the world that actually owned their own helicopters and several houses was limited, so he wasn't saying this lightly.

"I don't know, I'd like to travel, I guess, see the world." She considered the elastic she twirled in her fingers. "I haven't had much opportunity to go outside the States. Now that my job is gone, dad's passed away … there's not a lot to really hang around for. I've never really been close with my mom. It'd be neat to just to travel for a bit, I think, then settle down somewhere quiet. Somewhere _safe_," she pressed significantly.

Jackson nodded, dipping his head slightly as his blue eyes lit up, meeting hers. "That sounds doable … do you like water, Leese?"

Lisa smiled, recalling the Oceanside Atlantic view from her office at the Lux.

"I do. There's something comforting about it, something warm and soothing."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said lightly, popping a small orange wedge into his mouth.

They ate in silence for a bit, and it occurred to Lisa that she hadn't actually had proper time off that didn't involve family deaths or assassination plots in well over a year. She felt refresh and rested.

Looking at Jackson's profile, she decided to see if she could prod further into his past to get to know him better.

"So, let's see," she broke the comfortable silence, "From what I've gleaned about you so far, you had an Ivy League education and were in the CIA, and you can fly. I'm guessing your parents were pretty proud of you before you went over to the dark side, huh?"

"Who says I'm on the dark side?" Jackson's eyes flashed with mirth, and Lisa shook her head, suppressing a grin.

"Oh no, I'm not playing that game with you. You're as dark as a shadow in the night, buddy, don't try to tell me any different."

He chuckled.

"Look, all I meant was that at some point your parents or whoever raised you must have been impressed with what you did with your life, you know, once upon a time when you were batting for the right side?"

Jackson's jaw tightened slightly, and he leaned his head back indolently, considering her. His petulant but relaxed demeanor gave nothing away.

"And what makes you say that?"

Lisa receded, biting her lip. "Okay, look, I'm sorry. If you don't want to talk about it, I understand." She shook her head slightly, wondering if Jackson evading her questions was going to become routine in their oddball relationship.

The hand he placed around her wrist a second later answered her question, and she looked up. Just as soon as he'd gotten her attention, he withdrew the hand, leaning casually to the side on his elbow again as he eyed the waterfall in the distance.

"Look, I didn't exactly have a fairy tale upbringing, okay, Leese? There were no warm, fuzzy moments around the Christmas Tree or nights roasting marshmallows in front of camp fires with my parents." _In fact,_ he thought, _the memories I have of camp fires involved my parents burning bodily evidence in the middle of dry Arizona deserts. _But he remained mum.

"Okay," she replied quietly, nodding.

After a minute, he spoke, and she knew he was choosing his words carefully. "My parents … were really into paramilitary activities; they were survivalists and believed the world was either going to be invaded by extra terrestrials or blown up at any given point by the Republicans. I grew up living the first eight years of my life in and out of bomb shelters and training camps, playing with underfed dogs in junk yards, and watching people get beaten or killed for having a half-normal opinion or trying to get out."

Lisa felt her mouth go dry at the ease with which he said it. "Oh my God."

He shrugged. "When I was ten, I tried to run away, I wanted to make it look like I had died so I could escape. I lit an abandoned barn on fire in this shanty area we were staying in in Arkansas, but I didn't know there were gas cans in there. My parents came out with some of their associates," his mouth curled with distaste at the last word, "And the barn exploded as I watched from a hill."

Lisa's jaw fell open, and she just stared at him. Jackson seemed oddly serene despite the gruesome details, though, and kept glancing to the waterfall as though in a peaceful calm.

"A state trooper picked me up wandering on I-80, and I was placed in foster care with an older couple down in West Virginia. It might surprise you that I grew up pretty quiet; I didn't talk much to anyone, I just read a lot, got random jobs, spent a lot of time running and working out as I got older, and I joined the Army when I turned eighteen."

Lisa lay back on the blanket looking up at him, her interest piqued and wanting him to continue. "How long were you in for?"

"Four years," Jackson replied casually. He wasn't a product a seedy or corrupt past, Lisa began to realize; he was a product of his training. "I got a high score on the ASVAB, and started out as a Ranger for two years, then they put me in Delta Force, and I had the opportunity to take some placement tests and scholarship applications for Notre Dame when this guy came recruiting around the base one day for those interested.

"I didn't know it until it was too late, but it was actually a preliminary profiling cattle call for the Feds; something they do but don't tell you until later on when you're scaling knotless ropes up the sides of buildings at Quantico and swearing your allegiance to 'uphold and defend the constitution against all enemies, both foreign and domestic.'" He chuckled to himself. "I tested really high on the tests I took for Notre Dame, and when my four years were up a few months later, I was discharged with a fully-funded scholarship, and went to school along with my GI Bill."

"Wow." Lisa stared at him, trying to picture him running in the softly-lit, early morning fog on track fields at Notre Dame, hunkered down in libraries with piles of books around him, but again he seemed impassive.

"Jackson, that's … amazing." She gulped slightly with the remembrance of how he told her he was out of her league last night. _After all he went through, he said that to _me_._ She readjusted her head against the blanket, shielding a hand from the afternoon sun, high above them. "So, what happened to your foster parents?"

He sighed and glanced down at his hands, shifting on his elbow slightly. "I didn't contact them after I left for the Army, there wasn't a need. I … never really opened up to them, and I didn't want to involve them in all the psychological shit of my past. I was always a quiet, smart kid and kept to myself. Never gave them any trouble, and I wanted to keep it that way. They were good people, Alice and Daniel. I just figured it was best to leave 'em in peace, be grateful for my eight years there without incident, and move on." He still sent anonymous Christmas floral arrangements to their house every year, but hadn't actually personalized anything and didn't feel Lisa had to know this fact.

Jackson sat up beside her, bending a knee up and propping his elbow around it as his eyes glinted in the sun towards the serenity before them. The truth was, he had been afraid to open up to anyone after living so long independently, from such a young age.

Lisa would probably never realize it or understand, but she was the only one he had ever actively pursued a relationship with, the only one he desired to come to know. There had been women in the past, drunk college flings, overseas one night stands during his Ranger days and a few particular unmentionables, but all left him unfulfilled, incomplete; just a brief interlude and detached experience to gratify his urges as a younger man venting off sexual frustration.

Then along came Lisa, putting all of that behind, making him feel, giving his life a purpose, making him want her.

Colleagues and associates, even Richard were chalked up to happenstance and daily occurrences, but this woman was real, she was the one place his heart felt safe, because she was so similar to him in her withdrawal from induced pain and past attacks, sheltering her heart to the point where she was living almost the reclusive life of a nun.

He needed her.

Lisa saw the raw emotion in his eyes, the glimpse he had given her when his defenses lowered for that brief second in the lavatory on the red eye flight, and it struck her that it was okay to let herself go with him. He was safe, despite the craziness of their past.

Before she could say anything, he put a hand to her cheek and kissed her softly but deeply. He knew his expression was predictably cool and collected when they parted, but he hoped his eyes conveyed all he was feeling in that moment.

Lisa smiled gently at him and turned to lean back against him, rubbing the arms he wrapped around her as they sat on the blanket, watching small sheets of rushing water slide gracefully over the embedded slice of rock along the river. It was starting to get chilly.

A million thoughts ran through her head; what would happen now, after everything was sorted?

While the prospect of just sailing off into the sunset with Jackson was a picturesque fantasy, years of disciplining herself to get to the station of hotel manager had seasoned her well enough to know that fantasies were nice while they lasted, but life didn't always deal you a full house and let you walk away with the poker chips.

With any pleasure or gift in life, there was a cost involved, and that's the way it was. She'd learned that the hard way scaling the bottom rung to the top office.

She said nothing, though, not wanting to break the magic and utter stillness of the moment. Time felt slow and deliberate, still as stone, and she wanted it to last forever.

Jackson held her against him, thinking similar thoughts and breathing in the clean, sweet scent of her hair, occasionally bringing his lips down to tease her neck and smiling into the soft, red curls kissed with golden highlights from the sun.


	15. Darkest before Dawn

**A/N: Here's the next installment. And responses to those awesome reviews; thank you for the encouragement, you guys rock!**

**Syrinx – Cheers. I'm sticking to my outline, and hopefully can deliver if I don't rush it. FYI, I based Jackson's past on the real life upbringing of actor Josh Lucas, who played Lt. Ben Gannon** **in "Stealth". His parents were anti-nuclear activists**** and raised him as a survivalist. I just sort of elucidated and added fiction to Jackson, making it much more harrowing and messed up. ;)**

**76 – Thank you kindly.**

**Itsbetterwithjam – yep, the plot thickens. I'm not revealing anything at this point, so stay tuned and find out. ;) Thanks for the kudos, Jackson and Lisa deserved a picnic. Though I tried to tone down the fluff bunnies. :D**

**Maria – Trust Jackson. He's got it covered. Or doooes he? ;)**

**Leese – More shall come in the next week, the end is nigh. And you are always a great source of inspiration. In fact, uh, I wouldn't have a story without you. Or Carl Ellsworth. Or Jackson, for that matter. LOL**

**~*~  
**

"So, what did you want to show me?" Lisa stood next to Jackson in the basement of the cabin a few hours later, looking around apprehensively. The last time she'd come down here he'd kicked her ass.

He regarded her with amusement as though reading her thoughts, and walked over to the temperature panel on the wall. "This." Curiously, she watched as he flipped the panel open, and then lifted a hidden inner plate beneath it that looked like the touch-tone buttons on a phone receiver. He beckoned her over with his finger.

"The code is fifteen digits long; your social security number followed by the date of our red eye flight."

Lisa kept her mouth open. "You – have my social security number memorized?"

He rolled his eyes. "Really, Leese. What kind of a stalker-slash-boyfriend would I be if I didn't?"

Her eyes narrowed automatically. "Who said you're my boyfriend?"

He stepped in close, far past the boundaries of her personal comfort zone, impressing their height difference upon her. "I do," he said huskily. "Want to contest it after all the love we've made in the last few days, including before we flew back after the picnic?"

Against her will her cheeks burned crimson, and she found that she couldn't. _Am I really giving into him? Damn_. She slowly shook her head, meeting his cerulean gaze with trusting eyes.

He chuckled low, dipping his head down for a light peck to her lips. "Mhm, that's what I thought. Now enter the code, if you please."

Lisa turned her attention to the panel, and she began to enter her social. "So, what is this, the key box to the security here?"

A smug smirk crept onto Jackson's face as she entered the date of the flight. "Not quite. Press enter, and turn around." He didn't want to miss her reaction, and watched every movement as a series of high pitched beeps ensued, and they both turned around to look at the far wall. Like the whole room it was mounted with fencing swords and sparring equipment, but a portion she hadn't noticed before about the size of a door was left inconspicuously bare. After the sound of thick metal unlatching sounded in the otherwise silent basement, the empty space in the wall suddenly slid to one side, revealing a hidden dark room.

"So, this is where you keep the bat cave," Lisa joked, walking with him towards it.

"Every safe house has to have one," he retorted, leaning against the doorjamb as she peeked inside.

"It's … a panic room." As soon as the words escaped her, they seemed implausible, connecting the word "panic" with Jackson. True enough, the room was relatively small, a computer station with monitors that showed the entire premises, a single bed in the corner with several locked metal chests around the room stored with what she assumed were MREs, food rations and survival goods.

She quickly backed out of the room, looking questioningly at Jackson.

"It's also a bomb shelter," he informed her. "It was constructed to withstand an explosion."

She frowned at him. "Why are you showing me this?"

Jackson took a deep breath and glanced at the ceiling, articulating his words. "Because I want you to be prepared just in case something goes wrong with the operation."

Lisa folded her arms. "You're scaring me."

He lifted an eyebrow. "The idea is not to scare you Lisa, but to prepare you. This is just a precautionary. Everything should be fine, but in case it isn't and something happens, I want you to be safe."

She swallowed dryly, glancing at the panic room. "You know I have a problem with tight spaces."

"Well, if the need arises, you'll have to suck it up and drive on."

She grimaced, putting a hand to her throat. In the back of her mind she didn't want to consider what this implied. "Can we go upstairs now, please?" She found that her voice was very small.

Jackson nodded, swiftly crossing the room and entering the code in the panel again, watching as the panic room disappeared from view. She'd seen what he'd wanted her to see, and that was all she needed to know. The rest would be up to him to not muck up the operation.

The day waned on quite slower than Jackson had expected it to; they wound up playing a round of gin with Richard in the kitchen, which turned into a lengthy game of poker that Lisa surprised him by winning with a grin the Cheshire cat would have admired. She did a little victory dance as she collected her poker chips.

Richard cooked chicken tetrazinni for them that night, and Lisa discovered that the Doctor was quite skilled in the culinary arts as well as the art of indulgent conversation. He was an interesting raconteur on every subject from ingredients to patterned behaviors, and though he loved to hear himself speak, he also loved to give Jackson a hard time, which she privately adored.

**~*~**

Later that evening Lisa was sitting in the armchair by the fire, reading a hard backed edition of Great Expectations she had found in Richard's extensive library, when she heard talking in the next room. She shut the book with a quiet whisper, laying it on the arm of the soft chair, and tiptoed through the glow cast by the fireplace to the standalone, high bookshelves that served as a partition to the medical area.

She removed one of the thinner books just above her eye level to peek into the next room, where Richard had his glasses on and was examining Jackson's ear with a scope as he sat on the exam table. The light was bright and stark, and they spoke quietly. Lisa strained to hear them. Jackson sat facing the side, and she could only see his well-defined profile from where she stood on tiptoe.

Richard was speaking, choosing his words carefully as he examined Jackson. "-bought flat outright, so they're yours when you need them, information and keys are stored in the safe deposit box like you wanted. Money's wired to the account in Zurich."

"Good," Jackson grunted, his jaw tightening as the doctor probed his tender calf.

"Looks like they worked you pretty good this time … So, when I was in Mexico last week, I ran into Salvador Chavez down by the diving lodge in Acapulco, you know, the one you used to frequent quite regularly? We made small talk, and I asked if he'd seen you while you were there five months ago when you had your two month sabbatical, hanging out with any beautiful women down at the beach …"

Jackson said nothing, but looked down briefly as though embarrassed.

"Want to know what he said? Said you'd never even checked into the _hotel_. Care to elaborate, or would you like me to venture a guess at where you spent February to April before penultimate disaster took flight, so to speak?"

Jackson sighed and looked up at the ceiling, and Lisa saw him shoot the older man a warning look, but he still said nothing.

"Because I'd like to take a guess, if I may. Might it have something to do with stalking a certain young fiery-haired woman, who by the way is staring at you right where Dostoyevsky's greatest works should be?" Jackson's head whipped straight to Lisa, and she let out a little yelp at having been found out, stumbling backwards and landing hard on her butt on the hardwood cabin floor.

"Ow!" She squealed, and the next second Jackson was on the floor beside her on his hands and knees, bare-chested, his face close to hers. His skin glowed in the firelight as a smile threatened to surface, but was overridden by concern. Lisa grimaced and rubbed her sore toosh. "Guess that's what I get for eavesdropping, huh," she moaned.

Jackson smirked. "You alright there, Nancy Drew?"

She rolled her eyes. "Very funny. I supp-" The next second, Jackson was kissing her passionately, putting a hand behind her back for support and pushing her gently down to the floor.

"Mmm … what about Richard?" She questioned, halfheartedly putting a hand to his chest as her body came to attention, and darting her eyes to the bookshelf. The light from the examination area had been switched off, and she heard the front door shut.

"He went back to his RV for the night. We're alone," Jackson assured her, dropping his tone down a notch.

She gave him a probing look, slightly playful. "Do people always do what you say?"

"Everything's negotiable," he replied sensually, with an inviting look that could only have one meaning. "Kiss me, woman."

**~*~**

She awoke in the dark to the sounds of a zipper being shut. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom, and she vaguely realized Jackson was on the floor somewhere at the foot of the bed. Lisa wiped her eyes and reached over for the lamp on the nightstand.

"Don't turn it on," he said quickly in a hushed voice. The rustle of clothing as he moved along with his seriousness of tone sent chills creeping through her body. She sat up, pulling the duvet up to her naked form. The lack of his warmth must have woken her. "Why not?"

He moved quickly around the bed and was now kneeling at her side, touching her hand. "Because I'm leaving early to do the drop, and I don't want Richard to know until after I'm gone. This is the only time he sleeps."

Against her will tears stung behind her eyes. "Were you even going to say goodbye to me?" she kept her voice low like his, though Richard was out in the RV. Jackson tsked, standing up to lean over and kiss her forehead and rub her shoulder. He was fully clothed in some lightly-based black material, and looked every inch the deadly spy.

"Of course I was, Princess. Otherwise I wouldn't have woken you up. Want to get dressed and see me out?" he reached down to the floor and produced her earlier discarded garments, which she maneuvered into while still on the bed. She stood up, putting her arms around his waist and pressing her head into his chest. She noted he had a thin, colored stretch of long rope in his hand that he had been knotting, much like the climbing ropes she was used to scaling when in gymnastics.

"Are you sure it's such a good idea to go now? Won't they be upset you're changing the drop time?" she muttered into his chest.

Jackson held her at arms length, smiling ruefully at the emotion crackling in her voice. "Leese, can I give you a piece of advice?"

"Could I stop you?" she snarled.

The corners of Jackson's lips twitched upwards. He waited a moment as if carefully choosing his words, then had out with it. "You need to learn to quell your emotions when necessary when you're around these people, or you're not going to have a GWH to save your life. They eat your tears for breakfast, and spit them out for brunch."

Lisa frowned. Great, more jargon to learn in addition to being lectured by Yoda the Wise. "What's a-"

"Stands for Great White Hope," he winked, pulling the knot on the rope in his hands tightly until satisfied. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to lend me your hand for a moment?"

She yanked it back just as he began to touch her fingers. No way was she going to be tied up. "Why do you want my hand?" she asked suspiciously, regarding the rope with less than trusting eyes.

Quick as a hawk, Jackson swooped forward, and planted a kiss atop her knuckles, grinning mischievously as he pulled her to him and threw the rope over his shoulder so it landed on his duffel bag on the floor.

"Nothing really, I just wanted to do that," he smirked at her scowl, and walked over to her open suitcase on the armchair, motioning for her to join him. His expression suddenly wore down, and he looked very serious.

"Leese," he whispered, "I need you to do something for me." Her sharp green eyes followed him as he extracted a roll of socks wedged in the corner of the luggage, beneath a few folded pairs of pants. She saw the faint outline of a small rectangular object jutting from within the cotton.

"In here I have the main info they need from your dad's thumb drive. This is a split one I've made, because I don't entirely trust them to make good on their promise to take care of you, especially knowing there's a mole in there," she had to step very close to hear his half-inch whisper, meeting the light in his blue eyes, which were intensely focused on her. "Now, I'm going in playing my cards, and I'm giving them an ultimatum to follow, at which time I'll give them the rest of the information, but I don't fully trust Richard to not just hand it over to them."

"Well, what makes you think _I'm_ not going to do the same, Jackson?" she hissed back in a harsh whisper. "You're withholding evidence, here, really important evidence."

"No, Leese," he reprimanded raspily. "What I'm _doing_ is saving both our asses. I want to make sure we're both out of harm's way before I give this to them, and I need to go now when they're not expecting it, to keep the ball in our court. They still don't know who Keefe's inside man is, and I'm not going to take the chance of losing you."

Lisa pursed her lips, inwardly cursing him. She grabbed the roll of socks, fishing out the thumb drive and holding it up to his face. "I'm coming with you."

He looked furious. "The hell you are!" he growled in a whisper. "Listen to me and listen carefully. If I hadn't of intervened and taken you that day at your apartment, you would certainly have been dead within a day. These guys don't play around, Lisa. I'm not questioning your ability or stamina or guts – I know you've got what it takes. This isn't about that at all. But you can't come with me now. You're safer here."

"Jackson," she whispered shrilly, getting in his face, "_You_ don't even trust Richard to hold onto this. What in the hell makes you think I'm any safer with him than with the guys at the FBI?"

"Because it's complicated," he lowered his head, bearing the full weight of his intimidating gaze into her. "He's my dog, loyal only to _me_. He would never put you in harm's way. I _do_ trust him to a considerable extent, but he's more of a rule player than I am – always has been, and anyone will give in to the right kinds of persuasion or even guilt. Look, just hold onto this, Lisa. It's our insurance policy. _Don't_ let Richard know you have it, and when the time comes in a day or so, I'll come to get you, we'll take off together, and the Feds will have what they need, but by that time we'll be long gone and on our way to safety. Just be packed and ready to go the moment I say to, okay?"

Lisa let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, and stepped back a pace, looking at him with slight distaste. But the distaste was more directed at herself. Was this some kind of separation anxiety after being so tightly clustered with him? She really didn't want him to go, especially after losing her father so suddenly. In an odd sort of way, she trusted him to deliver them out of this situation, and it was more the concept of possibly losing him that frightened her more than anything.

"It's going to be fine, Leese," he murmured into her neck, stepping closer to draw her into his embrace. "We're going to come out of this unscathed and free." He sealed this promise with a light kiss, smiling at her as he touched the side of her face, his fingers finding their way into her hair. "I have to go now."

Lisa frowned, glancing at the dark window. "Won't Richard wake up when he hears the car start?"

"I'm hiking up to the copter on foot," he whispered. "Should be about thirty minutes to get there. Just tell him I kissed you goodbye and said there had been a change in plans, that I was doing the drop early. He knows me, he won't think it's anything unusual. In fact, he probably expects it."

"Yeah, except you're not giving them everything they wanted," she chastised, lifting an eyebrow as he rubbed her back.

"Hey, never go into a poker game empty-handed," he returned lightly. He kissed her once more for good measure, and shouldered his duffel. "Don't wait up." Smiling, he released her arms and was suddenly shuffling quietly down the stairs. Lisa stood there holding the thumb drive, swaying slightly on the spot for a moment, when something kicked in and she thundered down the stairs, not caring if Richard heard her or not.

"Jackson!"

Halfway to the front door, he set the duffel bag down and opened his arms as she jumped into them, wrapping her legs around his waist and kissing him passionately. His black-gloved hands clutched her toned derriere, holding her up to him in a moment he never wanted to break.

They continued on in this fervor for half a minute; then Jackson halfheartedly released her along with even more reluctantly releasing her lips. He grimly nodded, grabbing his bag again and giving her a last, meaningful look.

"Be careful." She ordered, folding her arms over her chest.

The cabin suddenly felt ten degrees cooler and seemed much more silent knowing he was leaving.

He nodded, conveying unspoken words to her with his eyes before turning towards the door, carefully turning the knob and disappearing into the night.

Lisa put her palm to her rapidly beating heart, trying to quell the nerves and foreboding that settled upon her as she watched him walk towards the perimeter in the distance.


End file.
